


Tomorrow you will have forgotten me

by limin



Series: i wake up in the morning (and i wonder why everything's the same as it was) [1]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending actually, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Open to Interpretation, Possibly Graphic Description of Violence, Selective Medical Accuracy, Suicide, Time Loop, Whump, aka Why this fic as a M rating, not sure how actually graphic it is but tagged just in case, on the flip side though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:53:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 103,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27445189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limin/pseuds/limin
Summary: Jake or Raymond, sometimes Jake and Raymond, keep dying.The world keeps giving Kevin another chance to right what he did (has done, will be doing) wrong. And another chance, and another chance, and another-
Relationships: Kevin Cozner & Jake Peralta, Kevin Cozner & Seamus Murphy, Kevin Cozner/Ray Holt
Series: i wake up in the morning (and i wonder why everything's the same as it was) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2015323
Comments: 14
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanna stress the important of reading the tags and understanding what the "Choose not to use Archive Warnings" warning means. Suicide get its own tag, but there are also smaller things (dissociation, a lot of panic attacks) and well, the violence. Again, not sure how graphic it is but it's nothing that warrents an E rating so it should be fine. 
> 
> This fic was written with the intend to be an one-shot, but alas ao3 has a cap on characters per chapter. So, for the best experience, please make sure this fic is fully finished (2/2 chapters. If it's not then ao3's probably still processing, please check back in a few minutes) and click on the Entire Work button. This fic also has some pretty formatting that I coded in, so make sure you have creator's skin on. It is mobile friendly, so dw.
> 
> Other than that though, welcome to "Tomorrow you will have forgotten me" and I hope you'll enjoy this fic. Godspeed :D

The first time, Kevin doesn’t see it happen.

“You gotta go, get the hell outta here. I got this.”

As much as it frustrates him, he knows Jake’s right. Between the two of them, Jake is a trained officer with more experience in these situations, and Kevin being around would only hinder the process. So he nods and hurries over to the car.

Jake drawing his gun is the last thing Kevin sees before he presses the pedal and drives away. The focus needed to control a vehicle forces his worrying to the backburner, though his grip on the wheel doesn’t loosen.

Jake got this.

The safe house looks the same as it did when he first got escorted here, that is to say ordinary. It blends in as it should and Kevin should have never gotten out.

But the idea at the time was so tempting, and in some messed up way, the pros outweighed the cons.

Look where that’s gotten him now.

He unlocks the door methodically, locking it behind him though Kevin doubts that will hardly matter. A gun can deal with the door in a matter of seconds.

A gun can do a lot in a matter of seconds.

Jake got this.

He sits at one of the safe spots in the house, away from the windows. Days ago Jake stood opposite to him, describing another ridiculous Nicholas Cage movie. He had acted like a puppy then, all eager eyes and fast words, and Kevin thinks (knows) he will miss Jake when this is all over.

He definitely will miss him even more if he-

No, Jake got this.

He’s a good detective. Despite the no cop talk policy, though that has been modified slightly, Raymond sings high praise of Jake. High praise laced with his own annoyance at dealing with Jake’s antics, sure, but high praise nonetheless. That rarely happens, certainly hasn’t happened at all before he got assigned to the ninety ninth precinct.

The ninety ninth precinct.

They’re coming, probably have arrived at the warehouse already. It will be fine.

They would deal with Murphy swiftly, and Raymond and Jake would be let go after a check-up, and Kevin would apologise and kiss Raymond like they’re newlyweds again and hope to God Raymond will take him back even after everything that has happened. He and Raymond would retire to their own bed, and even if both of them have a strict sleeping position, Kevin would embrace Raymond under the covers, perhaps even more.

It would be fine.

He would return Jake’s movies with a promise of a get-together later because he has not seen Gone in Sixty Seconds and while watching that kind of movie is below Kevin, watching Jake being so excited, reciting dialogue and re-enacting the fight scenes makes everything more bearable. Seeing Jake happy makes it so much more bearable.

It has to be fine, Kevin won’t allow, won’t accept anything else.

Jake hasn’t got this.

Amy’s eyes are red, still wet with tears. Jake has talked about Amy a lot, about how much he misses her. He mutters her name while sleeping.

Detective Boyle’s worse, full blown sobbing and mourning and grieving. His name comes up a lot too, Jake bemoaning the lack of his best friend in his life.

Sergeant Jeffords’ grip on his phone is so tight that Kevin can see the beginning of a crack on the screen. Rosa’s trying her best to hide it, but the way she’s holding herself is enough of a tell.

Even detective Hitchcock and Scully are silent.

“Hey Kevin.” And Gina’s familiar drawl feels wrong. Lacking something.

He looks over: Gina’s the most put together out of the bunch, but Kevin knows she’s teetering on the edge. And she will fall soon, but right now she’s looking at him with the same expectation.

They’re all looking at him.

Kevin wishes they would do literally anything else.

Jake hasn't got this.

Kevin feels numb. He stumbles, and the only thing keeping him from collapsing is his iron tight grip on the door.

Jake hadn’t got this, Kevin corrects himself. Jake’s dead. Which means Raymond is also-

“I’m sorry,” Gina murmurs, putting the final confirmation to his train of thought. She walks up the steps then, slowly, until she’s standing right in front of him. “I’m so sorry, Kevin.”

“They-” Are Dead. Were Killed. Were Murdered.

He doesn’t dare finish the sentence, and Gina doesn’t need him to. She doesn’t need to, shouldn’t pull him in for a hug either.

Gina shouldn’t be comforting him, not when he should be held accountable instead.

“Excuse me,” Kevin says, his voice barely louder than the crying. He jerks away from the contact, ignoring Gina’s look and turns, slamming the door so loud behind him that for a moment it sounds like a gunshot.

Raymond’s dead.

Raymond’s dead and Kevin’s alone in this safe house that he should have never left in the first place. Alone with the fact staring back at him, condemning him.

Murphy may have pressed the trigger, but Kevin lined up the shot.

He should have stayed, he should have never started that conversation in the first place. Should have said no to Jake, should have stayed with him until the end, perhaps it would all have been different.

Well, you may not have a husband when all of this is over.

Kevin laughs then, even when hot tears are running over his cheeks, dropping on the disguise that Jake has picked out. Had picked out.

He got what he wanted in the end, didn’t he? Two hours of alone time in the library, freedom from this safe house, not needing to see Jake ever again and a distinct lack of Raymond in his life.

Raymond’s dead.

And Kevin killed him.

Humourless laughter trails off into unending sobs, even when he has no right to do that.

* * *

The second time, Kevin wakes up exhausted. He doesn’t remember falling asleep in the first place, nor does he remember falling asleep on a pillow with a blanket hastily thrown over him.

Someone, probably someone from the ninety ninth because who else really, has helped him then. The why is beyond Kevin.

The window blinds are drawn closed, leaving the room in a muted darkness that Kevin’s more than grateful for. He lets himself lay there for a moment, just looking up at the ceiling and appreciating the silence that’s only occasionally disturbed by Jake’s muttering.

Oh.

A nightmare then. A vivid one, sure, but that would be the only logical conclusion, seeing how Jake is still sleeping beside him, talking and alive. He’s alive.

“Come out the coast…”

Or perhaps this is a dream, and Kevin will soon wake up to the reality where Jake and Raymond are no longer here.

“We’ll get together…”

He supposes it doesn’t matter which is which. What is important is that Jake’s here right now.

Jake shifts, turning and facing Kevin. “Have a few laughs,” he finishes, giggling.

He looks younger, no forced awkward smile or badly hidden wariness. Kevin has never taken a moment to really look at Jake before, not once during this long stay.

He is now, committing every detail to his memory, burning the image into his brain forcefully, almost desperately, just in case-

Just in case.

“Kevin?”

He doesn’t jump, but it’s close. Hearing Jake sleep-talking is one thing, hearing Jake saying his name and actually addressing him is… After that, it’s... It’s a sudden feeling of vertigo but it helps his brain to properly register that yes, Jake’s alive. Which is good, more than good even.

“I’m sorry if I woke you up,” he whispers. “It’s early still, you should get some more sleep.”

Jake grumbles something under his breath, pauses to clear his throat and speaks with more clarity. “Why are you up?”

“It’s nothing you should concern yourself with,” Kevin insists. “Come on, you need all the rest you can get.”

“Not like we do much in this house anyway,” Jake retorts.

Kevin doesn’t have anything to counter the point, so he doesn’t say anything. They honestly don’t do much besides watching those action movies that Jake has brought with him and wait for another day to pass, another day to mark off the calendar. And he has tried to keep busy, but nothing seems to stick.

It really isn’t living, just merely existing for the sake of existence, moving around like shades.

“What do you do for entertainment, Jake?”

“Me?” Jake squeaks, clearly surprised by his question, clearly not angry or showing any negative emotion at his prodding either. “Oh you know, being cool and kicking ass. The usual, pfft. That’s me, baby.”

“You will not be surprised to find out that I don’t believe a single word that you have just said.”

“Au contraire,” Jake says, pronouncing the words in a way that makes Kevin wince. “I am very surprised that- Wait, does that honestly mean you don’t think I’m cool? Oh come on!”

“I have seen you gorge yourself on...what are those things you’re always eating?”

“Pizza bagels?”

“No.”

“Pizza rolls?”

“No...”

“Pizza poppers?”

“No?”

“Pizzaritos?”

“No!”

“Pizza pockets?”

“That’s it!” Kevin says, and pauses at the sudden feeling of déjà vu. The nightmare, right. There was a back and forth at some point with Jake, maybe a few, maybe about pizza pockets, maybe something else. “You can’t honestly expect me to take you seriously after that and all of those Nicolas Cage movies. Not to mention your previous antics that Raymond has told me about.”

Jake’s chuckling at him saying Nicolas Cage stops suddenly when he mentions Raymond. “Oh. Does he...talk about me? Not that I care, of course, not like I see him as like, a father figure or something…”

It’s always too early to deal with Jake’s father problems, Kevin thinks. “He talks about the whole precinct, and your name always inevitably comes up at one point or another.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or an insult so I will take it as a compliment, you’re welcome professor.”

“Doctor.”

“Doctor,” Jake amends. “Though between you and me, professor sounds way cooler. You know, like professor X, or professor Layten, or just The Professor. Oh that gives me chills.”

“I do not recognise anything you have listed. Is this another one of your pop culture references?”

Jake looks like Kevin has just insulted the ninety ninth precinct to his face. Which he had. “You don’t know professor Layten?” he asks, scandalised.

“I can’t say that I do, no.”

“Oh, I know what we’re doing when we finally get out of here,” Jake continues, getting more and more excited with every word. “You will love it, I swear. It's got smart puzzles and like, professor Layten is so fancy. He has a proper top hat and everything. Do you think I would look good in a top hat? Wait no, if anything I’d be the Luke to your Layten, minus the weird cap thing. And maybe the sweater…”

“So it’s a puzzle game then?”

“It’s more than a puzzle game, you take that back!”

Kevin doesn’t, merely raising an eyebrow at Jake. Which launches him into a monologue about the game that has made him the detective that he is today, supposedly.

When Jake finishes explaining the first game (there are a lot more) that feeling of dread and guilt is forgotten, replaced by a sudden warmth and determination instead.

It’s fine, they’re fine. Kevin got this.

Raymond comes by at noon with some food and fruits. Even when he has come to terms that that was a dream, it still feels comforting to see Raymond alive and crawling on his belly into the living room. It also feels oddly familiar, though Kevin can’t quite put a finger on the why.

Well, he can. Raymond coming by and visiting them every now and then is the most exciting thing that ever happens around the safe house these days, and of course him crawling on his belly would be a familiar sight.

“Good oranges, nice and dry,” Raymond says, holding a piece up and inspecting it. “Not at all ripe.”

The sense of déjà vu hits him again, stronger this time and accompanied by a sudden sharp jolt of pain. He has heard that before, hasn’t he? Kevin could have sworn…

“Are you feeling alright, Kevin?” Raymond asks suddenly. “You’re gritting your teeth.”

It appears that he is. Kevin sighs, stopping himself from the annoying habit. “Thank you for your concern, but it’s merely a minor headache. Certainly nothing for you to be worried about.”

The last part comes out more bitter than Kevin has intended. Are you feeling alright, as if Raymond isn’t the one who might die. Why is he worrying over Kevin when he’s the one who will lead to Raymond’s demise? He doesn’t deserve Ray-

No. He had not, did not and won’t do that.

It was a nightmare, Kevin reminds himself. A too real nightmare that has plagued him ever since he has woken up, but a nightmare nonetheless. It was a figment of his imagination, he wouldn’t have willingly done anything of the sort in real life.

(Yet here he is, fighting with Raymond again.)

“Is that why you were up so early?” Jake slowly asks.

“Yes,” Kevin lies. “I had hoped that it would have gone away already.”

“Hmm, aspirin maybe? Amy always gives me aspirin anyway, I usually just sleep it out. Which is something you didn’t do. Last night. When, you know, when you woke up and-”

And Jake’s rambling, his sentence getting more and more detached and grammatically incorrect the longer Raymond stares at the two of them. His gaze burns.

“Jake,” Kevin cuts in. “I will be fine. Honestly, I’m more surprised that this hasn’t come sooner, considering the circumstances.”

Raymond sucks in a sharp breath.

“The circumstances? Ooooh, the circumstances. Cool cool cool cool cool,” Jake trails off. He looks between him and Raymond, before looking down at the floor instead. “Are you two-”

“It appears so, yes,” Raymond says. “I’m leaving.”

Kevin hasn’t got this, not at all.

No, it will be fine. Raymond will go back to the precinct, away from any danger and he will stay inside with Jake, away from any danger. No one’s going to get killed today.

He looks at the empty spot where Raymond was, and takes a deep breath. “Jake, what else have we not watched in that box of yours?”

Jake doesn’t look as ecstatic as he is whenever he’s allowed to play a movie. If anything he looks worried, and the same annoyance spikes in Kevin again.

He manages not to snap this time, merely giving Jake a look that prompts him into playing Gone in Sixty Seconds without any additional questions asked. It’s horrible just like the rest of the movies he has watched, but it is 113 minutes of desperately needed distraction.

“Soooo, how was this one?” Jake asks when the credits finish rolling and his fanboying over Nicolas Cage stops. “Come on, you have to admit, it was amazing!”

“Frankly, I would prefer a car hitting me over watching this again,” Kevin replies. “The plot’s horrendous, the acting is subpar at best, and the action scenes are a literal headache. Wait, perhaps this is exactly what being hit with a car feels like.”

“Like you have just seen God and he’s Nic Cage?”

“Like I have been to Hell and back. The aspirin is in the medical cabinet, yes?”

“Yes- oh, a literal headache,” Jake chuckles. “I thought you finally got it, you know. When we use literal-”

“Using literal as a form of exaggeration is the most illogical thing anyone could do, full offense Jake.”

“You and your boring definitions.” Kevin levels Jake a look. “I can get you the aspirin if you want?”

“That...would be appreciated, yes. Thank you.”

He watches as Jake stands up, actually standing up in a way that would surely announce anyone looking through the window of his presence.

Yesterday Kevin would not have cared that much. Now, though: “Jake, you’re in view.”

“It’s fine,” Jake waves him off, scoffing. “We both know Captain Holt is dramatic. No one’s going to shoot me Kevin.”

“Still,” he hesitates. The nightmare flashes in his head again. “You never know, Murphy’s men might be lurking.”

“Mayhaps Kevin, but hey, if they are they would have stormed in instead of posing outside aiming their...and there’s a red dot on my shirt.” Jake finishes his sentence frighteningly calm, a stark contrast to how fast he drops down on the floor, his own gun already pulled out and cocked. “I take whatever I just said back. Kevin, you gotta go. Lock yourself in a room, barricade the damn thing.”

“Jake.”

“Quick, we don’t have much time until they decide it’s safe enough to kick the damn door down. Go!”

“It’s dangerous, you’re going to get-” Kevin swallows, clears his throat and doesn’t bother finishing that sentence.

“I’m a trained officer Kevin, being cool and kicking ass is part of my job,” Jake echoes the ridiculous phrase. “I got this.”

Another flash of pain. Jake, saying the same thing under different circumstances, at a different time. No, today. No, that was the nightmare, he doesn’t have time for this right now.

“Fine,” Kevin grits out, in time with a sudden bang on the door and runs.

Loud noises behind him, footsteps, something crashing, guns getting fired- Jake quoting Die Hard. “Yippee-Ki-Yay, Motherfucker!”

The window is open, he can climb out of it. Kevin risks a glance behind his back to see objects getting thrown around, but Jake’s nowhere in sight. They could have booked it from here, and he half-wants to charge back, grab Jake’s arm and get him out of there.

A stray bullet lodges itself into a painting opposite to him. Too close for comfort, too close, too close.

Kevin climbs out of the window, runs and doesn’t look back. Hours later he will be informed that Jake was found bleeding out on the floor but there’s still a chance that they can save him. Raymond will allow him to lean on his shoulder in the hospital waiting room, but Kevin won’t do such a thing.

He should (would, will) have been the one on the table instead of Jake.

The hospital chair isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world to pass out on, but that doesn’t stop the tiredness from catching up to him.

* * *

The third time, Kevin doesn’t want to wake up. Not when he will have to deal with everything that has happened.

But his eyes flicker open anyway, thank god not needing to adjust to any bright light. The room is dark, quiet. Raymond must have moved him then.

Usually, Kevin would get out of bed right away. There’s no point in lingering here, not when he’s already awake.

Usually, Kevin doesn’t have to get up and look Raymond in the eyes and pretend that everything is fine between them. He doesn’t have another appointment at the precinct to give a better account of what happened (him leaving Jake behind to die, running until he can’t) and look at the ninety ninth and pretend that it is fine either.

So he lets himself lay there, looking up at the white ceiling and... their bedroom doesn’t have that particular stain in the corner, just visible enough to irritate. The safe house does.

The safe house.

He’s back in the safe house.

Where Jake got killed. Where Kevin left Jake to die.

There were unnecessary bruises and cuts and burns, they had drawn it out.

Kevin wants to do… something, literally anything else so he doesn’t have to deal with this right now. Instead his breathing picks up, faster and out of control.

Jake didn’t get killed here, he got tortured.

He had let Jake get tortured. Jake should still be here, would be if it wasn’t for Kevin. Jake’s not here.

Jake’s not here.

And then suddenly Jake’s here, all over his personal place, concern etched into his face.

“Kevin! Oh fuck- what do I, ok, Kevin, can you hear me? Ok, breathe with me, yeah? Come on.”

The dead don’t breathe, but Jake’s breathing loudly in front of him, long inhale and exhale. Jake’s dead, but Jake’s also here.

“You’re safe Kevin. We’re in the safe house, it’s Sunday the 18th, uh uh, fuck I should have paid more attention- Cool cool cool- Kevin, concentrate on my breathing, alright bud? In and out.”

He’s in the safe house, it’s Sunday the 18th, and Jake’s not dead.

He’s in the safe house, it’s Sunday the 18th, and Jake’s alive.

“Ok, you’re doing great Kev,” Jake says. “It’s fine, it’s fine.”

“Don’t call me Kev,” Kevin manages to utter out, his voice horribly hoarse and Jake chuckles. The dead don’t chuckle, don’t move, don’t blink and don’t talk and Jake’s…

Jake’s alive.

A nightmare then, his brain supplies when logicality settles back in.

Jake continues breathing loudly with him, and eventually the panic fades away too, leaving him strangely empty.

“Are you good now?” Jake asks.

Kevin nods, pauses, then shrugs instead.

“Do you...wanna talk about it?” Jake hesitantly continues. “Not that you have to of course, you don’t have to tell me everything, just...the offer is there if, you know, you want. No pressure tho.”

“While I appreciate the offer, I will have to turn it down.” Not when the nightmare at hand is...what it is. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Jake smiles. “You would probably do the same thing for me anyway… probably. It’s fine, forget what I just said.”

Kevin rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, of course I would.”

“You would? I mean, of course you would.” Jake clears his throat, turning away but not before Kevin sees a genuine smile on his face. “‘Course you would.”

“I’m sorry if I woke you up,” he continues after a beat of silence. “It’s rather early enough as it is.”

“Nothing a cup of coffee can’t fix.”

“A very unhealthy way of looking at it.”

“So is staying cooped up,” Jake retorts.

Kevin hums. “You make a good point. Would you be up for some coffee right now then?”

“Oh, would I?” Jake jumps out of the bed, or he would have done so if not for the blanket tangling around his feet. Instead Kevin watches as Jake trips over everything and lands on the ground. “Everything is totes fine!” he yells, failing to get up. “I’m fine!”

“I’m sure you are,” Kevin says, grabbing Jake’s hand and pulling him up properly. “Be more careful next time.”

“Careful is my middle name,” Jake grins dopely. “Now, coffee, professor?”

“Doctor.”

“Doctor,” Jake amends. “Though between you and me, professor sounds way cooler. You know, like professor X, or professor Layten, or just The Professor. Oh that gives me chills.”

A sudden throbbing pain, the sense of familiarity Kevin can’t quite put his finger on. It’s not uncommon, people getting his title wrong, but Jake getting his title wrong is a first. Should be the first, but has he really not done that before?

He shakes his head lightly, focusing back on the conversation at hand. “Professor Layten?”

Why is that the detail he focuses on? More importantly, why does Kevin even know about this puzzle game?

“Oh? You play it too Kev?”

“I haven’t played it personally,” Kevin answers slowly, then adds. “However a friend has told me about it. Only the first game though, not much beside that.”

“You have a friend who actually plays games instead of reading old boring stuff from the ye old day?”

“It surprises me too,” he doesn’t lie. It was (is?) a friend, right? “He said he’s a Luke.”

“Everyone would be Luke compared to you,” Jake says in that specific tone of his that makes Kevin frown. “You’re like, actually smart and whatnot, you know? Doctor Cozner, after all.”

Self deprecation is not a good shade on Jake, Kevin has found.

“That doesn’t mean that you are not intelligent either,” Kevin counters. “Stop putting yourself down so much. It’s unbecoming, and frankly, a little insulting.”

Jake splutters, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “What? How is that insulting?”

“Insulting to yourself.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. Now, coffee?”

Jake answers him with a smile. His good mood is infectious, and eventually Kevin relaxes, taking a careful sip of his caffeinated drink. Jake’s beside him, animated as he tries to explain what Kevin needs to know without spoiling the content of the game, and most importantly, Jake’s alive and in good health.

Well, good is relative. Kevin doubts anyone who eats those pizza pockets is in good health. Thank God Raymond comes bearing fruit at noon, oranges that Kevin’s currently forcing Jake to eat.

“Keeevin!”

He rolls his eyes, finishes peeling the orange and separates it in half. “Jake,” Kevin chides softly.

Jake looks at the floor, but he does take his half so Kevin’s counting that as a win. “This tastes horrible,” he says after eating the first slice, and even Kevin can tell Jake doesn't mean it.

“Good oranges, nice and dry,” Raymond counters. “Not at all ripe.”

Kevin looks down at his own plate to hide a grimace. The pain has been merely a dull sensation in the background all morning, but now it’s back with a vengeance that makes him feel disorientated. Hasn’t Raymond said that already, yesterday?

Was he here, yesterday?

No, Raymond wasn’t.

But the words from his mouth are so familiar, it’s like Kevin has heard them before. No, he knows he has heard them before.

Deep breath. Raymond likes to describe his fruit, they have had oranges before, that must be it. He’s making a mountain out of a molehill.

“Are you feeling alright, Kevin?” Raymond asks, in time with another wave of pain washing over. Kevin bites back a groan.

“Headache, mostly. I must be coming down with something,” he grits out. “You’ll have to excuse me.”

Crawling is harder like this, but Kevin manages through blurred vision. The aspirin helps somewhat, not getting rid of it entirely but his head is clearer.

“Hey, you ok?” Evidently not clear enough to notice Jake has followed him. “Capt left early, saying he has meetings to get to at the precinct. That and paperwork, probably.”

“I can’t imagine the two of us would make good company for Raymond right now either way,” Kevin shrugs. “It’s understandable.”

“Still, leaving you without even saying goodbye,” Jake adds awkwardly, wincing. “Sorry. Anyway, you’re good, yeah?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Cause this, and then you know, last night or well I guess that would be today early morning, whatever.” Jake walks closer to him, his hand moving up then dropping uselessly to his side again. “Holt said he will pick some stuff up for you too, medicine and whatnot.”

“Medicine and whatnot,” Kevin echoes. “How are you still alive?”

Jake shrugs. “Definitely luck. You wanna watch something later or do you wanna nap? Cause Gone in Sixty Seconds is like, awesome.”

“Did you come up just to ask if I want to watch another Nicolas Cage movie with you?”

“...Maaaaybe?”

Kevin stifles a sigh. Jake’s looking at him with those eyes that remind him of Cheddar when he wants his treat. God, he misses Cheddar.

“Fine,” Kevin gives in. “But keep the volume down.”

“Totes, noice,” Jake points at him with his index fingers and thumbs up, the rest curled back. Ah right, finger guns. “I will just be down then. Take your time Kev.”

“Kevin,” he corrects, rolling his eyes and stopping at the mirror. His reflection stares back, one that Kevin barely recognises. Since when do his eyes look so red, like he has been crying? “It’s Kevin, Jacob.”

Jake squeaks. “Jacob?!”

“If you’re so insistent in addressing me with the wrong name, it’s only fair that I retaliate,” he smirks. “Now, about that Nicolas Cage movie, Jacob?”

“Ok fine, I get it! Stop! It sounds like I’m in trouble.” Jake throws his hands up. “Is this how you teach too? Cause that’s just cruel.”

Kevin doesn’t answer. Jake laughs, and continues laughing while they watch Gone in Sixty Seconds. It’s not a good movie, but he had come to terms with that fact the moment Jake opened his mouth and described the plot to him. The acting is subpar, and even in a world where Nicolas Cage is as talented as Jake thinks, the acting couldn’t save this movie from the horrendous writing.

“Are you sure you have not seen this?” Jake asks, gaping at him. “Kevin, have you seen a Nic Cage movie without me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kevin scoffs. “Anyone who pays the slightest bit of attention can see the plot from a mile away. It’s predictable.”

“No it’s not! I will have you know that I gasped several times watching this!”

“My original statement remains correct. Do you only watch this movie because Nicolas Cage is in this? And do you only actually pay attention when he’s on screen?”

“...Maybe.”

“That explains it then.”

“Rude,” Jake mutters. “Here I am, about to get up and make some popcorn for two!”

Kevin watches with amusement as Jake rants on, actually standing up and gesturing with his hands. The amusement, however, lessens when Jake actually moves to the front of the window.

“Jake, you’re in view.”

“It’s fine.” It’s Jake’s turn to scoff now, waving away Kevin’s worry. “We both know Captain Holt is dramatic. No one’s going to shoot me Kevin.”

His head is pounding.

“Still,” Kevin hesitates. The nightmare flashes, some parts more detailed than others. “You never know, Murphy’s men might be lurking.”

“Mayhaps Kevin, but hey, if they are, they would have stormed in instead of posing outside aiming their...and there’s a red dot on my-”

Kevin surges up, ignoring how the sudden movement agitates the damn headache and pulls Jake down. His hands shake from where he’s holding onto Jake’s shirt. Jake’s hands are steady as he pulls out a gun from one of the cupboards. Has it been there the whole time?

“I take whatever I just said back. Kevin, you gotta go. Lock yourself in a room, barricade the damn thing.”

“Jake.”

“Quick, we don’t have much time until they decide it’s safe enough to kick the damn door down. Go!”

“It’s dangerous, you’re going to get-” Kevin swallows, clears his throat and doesn’t bother finishing that sentence. “You don’t know how many there are.”

“I’m a trained officer Kevin, being cool and kicking ass is part of my job,” Jake tries to smile at him. Keyword, tries. It looks more like a grimace. “I got this.”

“I don’t doubt that for a moment,” Kevin lies, taking a hold of Jake’s wrist and pulling him along. The window can be climbed out of. He has never checked the windows, no, he has. He must have. “It’s safer this way.”

“...Alright,” Jake cocks his gun.”Stay down when you are out.”

He does, crouching low and moments later Jake joins him, making a shushing gesture. Stay quiet.

A silent beat that’s interrupted by the sound of the front door getting slammed open, then footsteps. Then voices.

“Are you sure they’re here?”

“You really gonna ask that after we seen the fucking cop at the window? That’s pure fucking confirmation, especially with Holt coming and going like that. Fucking fag.”

Kevin glances at Jake. His grip on the gun is knucklewhite.

“After you failed to take the shot more like. Search the house.”

More footsteps, some getting further away, some going upstairs. Jake glances around, clears his throat softly. “We’re good,” he whispers, then begins moving, keeping his head down.

“Downstairs is clear!” the voice shouts, and Kevin nearly jumps. It’s so close, separated only by a wall, and he gulps.

Jake’s still moving.

Right, he can do this. Keep quiet, keep going, it will be fine.

“Well get up here and fucking help me then!”

Kevin follows until they’re at the front of the house, and Jake holds his hand out. Stop, stay. He frowns, but does so as Jake continues toward one of the non-descriptive cars parked right outside of the safe house.

Jake picks up a rock and smashes the window, reaching through and wrenching the door open.

Kevin holds his breath, prays that the men in the house didn’t hear the sound of glass breaking, the crack and crash and then the sound of the engine coming to life. It’s more wishful thinking than anything, but Jake’s waving him over and Kevin sprints.

“Get in!” Jake yells, his voice much louder than the rushed footsteps from the house. “Fuck, fuck fuck fuck.”

He’s barely seated, hasn’t even put on the seatbelt yet, and Jake’s already slamming the pedal and speeding off. The last thing on Kevin’s mind is to complain anyway, not after that narrow escape.

“Cool cool cool, this is totes fine!” Kevin looks over.

Jake doesn’t look so calm anymore, nor is he quiet. Kevin doubts he’s in a better state right now.

“Uh oh, we may have company-” Jake mutters, and Kevin looks at the mirror, catching sight of the rest of the cars. “Strap in.”

“You’re the one who’s not wearing a seatbelt.”

“Whatever!” A sharp left turn, the car almost tipping, Jake leaning with the momentum. “Ok point taken, seatbelt good. Fuck, are they still following?”

“Yes. And here.” Kevin reaches over, strapping Jake in swiftly. “Where are we heading?”

“Doesn’t matter, long as we lose them!” Jake shouts over the sound of the engine revving. He slams down on the pedal, accelerates past the speed limit. Kevin’s grip on the handle above the door gets tighter. “Keep an eye on them.”

“Getting closer, and they’re pulling out firearms.”

“Fuck.” A gunshot, and Kevin jumps. The mirror on his side cracks, a wisp of smoke coming from where the bullet has lodged itself in. Jake swears again. The car swerves left and right. “How mad would you be if I did something totally dangerous but also totally dope?”

“Very,” Kevin answers through gritted teeth. “Jacob I swear to God, this isn’t a movie and you are not an action star.”

“Jacob again? Come on!” Jake throws him a lopsided grin. “I got this.”

A sudden throbbing pain around his temple.

Jake didn’t got this.

Didn’t?

“What do you want me to do?” Kevin asks, shaking the thoughts away. Now is definitely not the time.

“That’s the spirit. Take the wheel,” Jake says, taking both of his hands off and Kevin lurches forward to grab it before the car has the chance to crash. “Ok, you keep us going, I’m going to stop these motherfuckers from following.”

“This is a very bad idea,” Kevin says. It clearly falls on deaf ears, especially when Jake pulls out the gun again, checking the ammunition.

“I know!” Jake rolls the window down, leans out and aims. The loud bang reverberates inside Kevin’s skull, not helping the nauseating feeling coming in waves. “That’s a close one, damn.”

Jake ducks back in and seconds later another shot rings out, hitting the other side mirror. Too close, too close. “Good heavens Jake, keep your head down!”

“They’re going to shoot us down any moment now,” Jake counters. “Continuing driving won’t solve anything.”

“Getting shot won’t solve anything either.”

“I’m a police officer, Kevin. I know the risk. Turn left when I tell you to, and don’t stop.” Before Kevin can reply, Jake’s leaning out again, gun ready to fire. “Yippee-Ki-Yay, Motherfucker. Now Kevin.”

He yanks on the wheel until it clunks to a stop, unable to turn any further. Jake must have slammed on the break at that moment too as the car drifts around, before speeding headfirst into their chasers.

Another shot and Kevin watches as the windshield cracks, and one of the cars turns out of control, sliding to a halt on the street and effectively blocking most of it. “Nice!”

“Yes, great shot detective. Now get in,” Kevin raises his voice. Jake, thank god, follows his words and gets seated inside again, rolling the window back up.

“Did you see that? God I was amazing,” Jake grins. “That’s one down, one to go.”

“Yes, and you better think of a better plan to deal with the other than making yourself an open target! What were you thinking?” Jake freezes, his grin falters. Kevin sighs. “Please take the wheel.”

He waits until Jake’s definitely gripping it properly before letting go, slumping back in his own seat. The headache fades, though a part of Kevin knows it will come back sooner or later.

“Sorry,” Jake mutters, breaking the silence. “I…”

“Jake, we can have this talk later. They’re coming back.”

“Oh thank god. Saved by the criminals,” Jake breathes. He adjusts the rear-view mirror, nodding slightly. “Oh yeah, see it now.”

Jake accelerates again. The scenery flies past them, not fast enough. “They’re closing in.”

“I’m going as fast as I can already.”

A glance at the speed meter confirms that, and a glance backwards confirms that they’re about to make contact. Kevin swears, and swears again when the car lurches forward from being rammed into.

“Permission to be stupid again?” Jake asks.

“Since when do you ask for permission, and would my answer even matter?”

“Nope and nope! Take the wheel.”

Kevin stifles a sigh, taking control of the wheel again and letting Jake roll the window down. “Be careful.”

“When am I not?”

“Right now.”

“Point.” Jake leans out again, enough to aim properly and start shooting. Kevin would have watched Jake more closely if it weren’t for the constant ramming that threatens to crash their car to the side. “Oh boy.”

Returning bullets, some that fly past them and some that definitely hit the car. One that cracks the rear window.

One that breaks the rear window, flying forward and lodging itself to the windshield.

Kevin swerves the car left and right, at least trying to make them harder to hit. Every movement is another loud impact as the car gets rammed again and again, making it even harder for him to find a way out.

One that cracks the rear-view mirror, and then another and another.

“God that was close,” Jake mutters to himself, the words barely heard over the chaos.

One that shatters the rear-view mirror into pieces, flying past.

“Kevin, stop turning, just go straight!”

One that’s too close.

Kevin nods, not that Jake can see it.

Another one that’s lodged into the crimson red windshield, not that Kevin notices, not when there’s an excruciating burning sensation that’s worse than any headache.

Blood doesn’t taste good, hot and uncomfortable with a metallic scent. Blood doesn't feel good, pouring down his back and sticking against his clothes.

“Kevin! Holy fuck, shit shit shit-” Jake’s yelling, and then he feels himself getting pushed back to his own seat. “Kevin, come on, stay with me.”

That’s Jake beside him. Kevin wants to reassure the nervous detective, but he feels frozen in his seat.

“Kevin? Can you hear me?”

Why is he not breathing properly? Why can’t he move? Everything around him is still moving, confusingly so and Kevin closes his eyes, relishing in the cold and calm darkness.

That feels good, better than whatever is happening right now.

“Come on Kev, don’t close your eyes on me,” Jake says. “Hey hey Kevin, Capt- Raymond would not want you to go to sleep now, yeah? Oh fuck.”

“Jake,” he tries to say, gargling on the blood, his own blood.

His own-

Oh.

He has been shot.

That answers some of his questions then.

Jake chuckles. It isn’t a good chuckle, a conscious part of Kevin observes. The rest of him wants him to close his eyes again.

It’s biting cold.

“Come on, uh, Kevin! Talk to me about Ray.”

Raymond, right. He- he’s not seeing him again.

He’s not going to see Raymond again.

He’s dying.

He doesn’t want to die.

He doesn’t want to just die….to become nothing, to fade into the blackness that’s invading his vision.

Kevin puts his head down, or maybe it’s to the side, against the window. “Could you tell Raymond that I apologise? And that I love him?”

“No no, you’re going to stay conscious and do that yourself,” Jake whispers. “Kevin, come on, look at me. Focus.”

Kevin does, squinting at the silhouette of Jake, blurry and bright and looking between him and something in front, or upward of him.

“Uh, so how about that book huh? You know, the wolf thing? Not dances with wolves, obviously, but that time at the party. Bee wolf? Or hell, just talk to me about anything. Lecture me, come on Kev.”

He’s going to die, isn’t he? The blood, the pain that feels like he has been gutted more than shot, the constant blaring loud noises around, everything-

Everything is fading, no, draining away too fast, leaving him.

Raymond, he’s not going to see Raymond again. Or Martin, or any of his friends, or his parents. Anyone. He needs to-

“Will you tell Raymond that I love him?” Kevin repeats himself. “Please?”

“He knows, god he knows that already. Kevin, not like this.”

“Jake.”

Jake closes his mouth with a snap, looking away. Kevin has a feeling he won’t turn back this time.

“...I will,” he finally says and suddenly death doesn’t feel that bad anymore.

“Thank you.”

“We haven’t even watched Captain Corelli's Mandolin yet,” Jake continues, trying to keep his tone light. “You would love it, even if it’s super boring.”

“A movie about a Mandolin?”

“Yeah. We can watch it. And hey, I still owe you some popcorn, right?”

“That sounds nice.”

Jake’s sudden sob somehow hurts far more than the actual bullet, Kevin thinks as he drifts off.

  
  
  
  
  
  
A number of patricians, one a very old man, are gathered in a

state room of the imperial palace. They are showing signs of

nervousness. FIRST PATRICIAN: Still no news. THE OLD PATRICIAN: None last night, none this morning. SECOND PATRICIAN: Three days without news. Strange indeed! THE OLD PATRICIAN: Our messengers go out, our

messengers return. And always  
they shake their heads and say: “Nothing.” SECOND PATRICIAN: They’ve combed

the whole countryside. What more can be done? FIRST PATRICIAN: We can only wait. It’s no use meeting trouble halfway. Perhaps he’ll return as abruptly as he left us. THE OLD PATRICIAN: When I saw him leaving the palace, I noticed a queer look in  
his eyes. FIRST PATRICIAN: Yes, so did I. In fact I asked him what was amiss. SECOND PATRICIAN: Did he answer? FIRST PATRICIAN: One word: “Nothing.” [A short silence. HELICON enters. He is munching onions.] I. Quantum Mechanics: Superpositions To reach the point I want to discuss, I must begin with a sketchy

review of quantum mechanics. I apologise to those of you who know this material already, perhaps

better than I do. But it will be an opinionated review: some of my opinions are eccentric. So there may be something in it even for those who are already experts. Quantum mechanics is, in a nutshell, the theory ofsuperpositions. To introduce

this concept, I begin with the standard account  
of the  
benzene ring–an account so well-entrenched in organic chemistry that it would probably survive

even if its quantum-mechanical foundation crumbled away beneath it.The benzene ring is a hexagon of carbon atoms, each with a hydrogen atom attached.Replace two adjacent hydrogens with two different substituents, so that we can unam-biguously number the sides of the hexagon. Two structures conform to the rules of valence:one with double bonds on the odd-numbered sides, another with double bonds on theeven-numbered sides (see Figure 1).The molecule reacts sometimes

as if it had one structure, sometimes as

if

it had the

other. Yet we do not think that a population of molecules is a mixture of the two structures.Neither do we think that each molecule oscillates rapidly between one structure and the other. Neither do we

think that the molecule has a betwixt-and-between structure–there is no such thing as a bond midway between double and single. Rather, we think that each molecule is in a superposition: a state objectively  
  
  
  
indeterminate between the two structures. Objective indeterminacy is multiplicity: a cloud of

indeterminate extent, forinstance, is really many clouds, almost but

not quite identical to one another [Unger1980; Lewis 1999b].2Likewise a molecule with an objectively indeterminate structure is really two coexisting molecules, one with one structure and one with the other. (Or at anyrate, two things that are molecule-like except for from their coexistence with one another.)2The thesis that indeterminacy in nature is multiplicity Æts well with the thesis that indeterminacy in language's semantic indecision: there are many clouds, and we haven't decided just which

one to call `the cloud'. Nevertheless, the two are separable. Maybe instead `the cloud' refers to the entiremultiplicity; or maybe just one of

the many–but it is a secret which one–is a mighty referencemagnet, and so `the cloud' refers

to that one.Figure 14How Many Lives Has Schrodinger's Cat? These are again truisms. I shall again repeat that they are not interesting in themselves but in the consequences that can be deduced from them. I know another truism: it tells me that man is mortal. One  
can nevertheless count the minds that have deduced the extreme conclusions from it. It is essential to consider as a constant point of reference in this essay the regular hiatus between what we fancy we know and what we really know, practical assent and simulated ignorance which allows us to live with ideas

which, if we truly put them to the test, ought to upset our whole life. Faced with this inextricable contradiction  
  
  
  
of the mind, we shall fully grasp the divorce separating us

from our own creations. So long as the mind keeps silent in the motionless world of its hopes, everything is reflected and arranged in the unity of its nostalgia. But with its first move this world cracks and tumbles: an infinite number of shimmering fragments is offered to the

understanding. We must despair of ever reconstructing the familiar, calm surface which would give us

peace of heart. After  
so many centuries of inquiries, so many abdications among thinkers, we are well

aware that this is true for all our knowledge. With the

exception of professional rationalists, today people despair of true knowledge. If the only significant history of human thought were to be written, it would have to be the history of its successive regrets and its impotences. Of whom and of what indeed can I say: “I know that!” This heart within me I can feel, and I judge that it exists. This world I can touch, and I likewise judge that it exists. There ends all my knowledge, and the rest is

construction.

  
For if I try to seize this self of which I feel sure, if I try to define and to summarize it, it is nothing but

water slipping through my fingers. I can sketch one by one all the aspects it is able to assume, all those likewise that have been attributed to it, this upbringing, this origin, this ardor or these silences, this nobility or

this vileness. But aspects cannot be added up. This very heart which is mine will forever remain indefinable to me. Between the certainty I have of my existence and the content I try to give to that assurance, the gap will never be filled. Forever I shall be a stranger to myself. In psychology as in logic, there are truths but no truth. We assume that we have a collection

of finite sets, !,'lJ, ...,Z, whose elements are denoted by xi (!, Yj ('lJ,..., zk (Z, etc., and that we have a joint probability distribution, P = P(xi'Yj,,,,,zk)' defined on the cartesian product of the sets, which represents the probability of the combined event xi'Yj"'" and zk' We then denote by X,Y, ... ,Z the random variables whose values are the elements of the sets !,'lJ, ...,Z, with probabilities given by P. 13 14 HUGH EVERETT, III For any subset Y, ... ,Z, of a set of random variables W,... ,X, Y, ...

,Z, with joint probability distribution P(wi"",Xj'Yk, ... ,ze), the marginal distribution, P(Yk, ... ,ze), is defined

to be: (1.1) P(Yk, ... ,ze) = l P(wi,,,,,Xj'Yk, ... ,ze) , i, ... ,j which represents the probability of the joint occurrence of Yk,... ,ze, with no restrictions upon the remaining variables. For any subset Y, ... ,Z of a set of random variables the conditional distribution, conditioned

upon the values W= wi""'X = Xj for any rewi"",Xj(y maining

subset W,... ,X, and denoted by P k, ... ,ze), is defined to be:! (1.2) which represents the probability of the joint event Y = Yk'''''Z = ze, conditioned by the fact that W,... ,X are known to have taken the values wi.... 'Xj. respectively. For any numerical valued function F(Yk'''' .ze). defined on the elements of the cartesian product of 'Y •...• Z. the expectation. denoted

by Exp [F], is defined to be: (1.3) Exp [F] l P(Yk.... ,ze) F(yk •...• ze) . k, ... ,e We note that if P(Yk'" .•ze) is a marginal distribution of some larger distribution P(wi •... 'Xj.

Yk' ... 'ze) then (1.4) Exp [F] l (l P(Wi'''''Xj'Yk, ••. 'Ze») F(Yk.... 'ze) k, ... ,e e,... ,j l P(wi"",Xj'Yk"",ze)F(yk"",ze)' i, ... ,j,k, ... ,e We regard it as undefined if P(wi, .... xj > = O. In this case P(wi, .... xj' Yk, ... ,ze> is necessarily zero also. THEORY OF THE UNIVERSAL WAVE FUNCTION 15 so that if we wish to compute Exp [F] with respect to some joint distribution it suffices to use any marginal distribution of the original distribution which contains at least those variables which occur in F. We shall also

occasionally be interested in conditional expectations, which we define as: (1.5) Exp wi, ... ,Xj [F] = l P wi, ... ,xj(Yk,... ,ze) F(Yk, ... ,ze) , k•.•.•e and we note the following easily verified rules for expectations: (1.6) Exp [Exp [F]] = Exp [F] • (1. 8) Exp [F+G] = Exp [F] + Exp [G] . We should like finally to comment upon the notion of independence. Two random variables X and Y with joint distribution P(xi' Yj) will be said to be

independent if

and only if P(xi' Yj) is

equal to P(xi) P(Yj) for all i,j. Similarly, the

groups

of random variables (U... V). (W... X),...• (Y... Z) will be called mutually

  
He’s in a room.

  
  


independent groups if and

only if P(ui, ,Vj' Wk,... ,xe, ... ,ym, ... ,zn) is always equal to P(ui, ... ,Vj) P(wk, ,xe).', P(Ym•... 'zn). Socrates’”Know thyself” has as much value as the “Be virtuous” of our confessionals. They reveal a nostalgia at the same time

as an ignorance. They

are

sterile exercises on great subjects. They are legitimate only in precisely so far as they are approximate.Picture the molecule as a double image, as if we drew the two structures on two transpar-encies and laid one over the other.Some

terminology. We call the resolutions of the indeterminacy–the superimposedimages–branchesof  
the superposition. And we call a state which is not a superposition (oris, if you prefer, a degenerate one-branch superposition) asharpstate.We can say that each bond is in a superposition of double and single. But if we say justthat, we lose

information. The superpositions

of the individual bonds are entangled. Thatmeans that a double bond  
on any odd side goes with double bonds on the other odd sides,and likewise a double bond on any even side goes with double bonds on the other evensides. Relative to a

double bond on side 1, we have one structure for the whole molecule;relative  
to a single bond

on side

1 we have

another. No branch of the superposition for the whole molecule hybridizes the two structures, putting double bonds on sides 1, 3, and 4,say. Some superpositions are entangled with other superpositions distinct from themselves.Others are

unentangled,

though they may have parts which are entangled with  
oneanother.3SECOND

PATRICIAN [in the same nervous tone]: It’s all very perturbing. FIRST PATRICIAN: Oh, come now! All young fellows are like that. THE OLD PATRICIAN: You’re right there. They take things hard. But time smooths everything out. SECOND PATRICIAN: Do you really think

so? THE OLD PATRICIAN: Of course. For one girl dead, a  
dozen living ones. HELICON: Ah? So you think that there’s a girl behind it? FIRST PATRICIAN: What else should there be? Anyhow—thank goodness!—grief never lasts forever. Is any one of us here capable of mourning a loss for more than a year on end? SECOND PATRICIAN: Not I,

anyhow. FIRST PATRICIAN: No one can do that. THE OLD PATRICIAN: Life  
would be intolerable if oneWhy should we believe in collapse? Recall our example of the photon, the half-silveredmirror, and the detector

atom. When one branch but not the other of the superposition ofundeØected photon versus deØected photon reached the detector atom, the atom in turnwent into a superposition of excited versus unexcited. That is what Schrodinger evolution predicts. Now replace the detector atom by a

macroscopic photon detector with a pointerthat can point to `yes' or to `no'. This time, Schrodinger evolution predicts that the pointerwill go into a superposition of pointing to `yes' versus pointing to `no'. Now, we never seeatoms, so we're in no position to tell whether they're in sharp states or not. But we do seethe pointer. When we do, we see that it's in a sharp state of pointing either to `yes' or to`no'. Or so it certainly appears. Unless this

appearance is an illusion–but soon we shallconsider hypotheses which say that it is exactly that–Schrodinger evolution must be interrupted at some point by collapse.Similarly in quantum tunnelling, when some of the total intensity goes to branches of a superposition that lie beyond a barrier, collapse can result in the particle appearing at a sharp location beyond the barrier. That is what we think happens in

radioactive decay, atleast if the  
decay

  
is observed by means of a Geiger counter.When does collapse take place? There are many hypotheses on the market, and thus many versions of quantum mechanics. Unfortunately they are as near as makes no dif-ference empirically  
  
equivalent. Our only hope of adjudicating  
between them is to judge them on their inherent plausibility. Most of these hypotheses fall on a spectrum, startingwith those on which collapse takes place often and easily, and ending

with those on whichcollapse takes place only under very special conditions.6We begin, however, not with any of the hypotheses on our spectrum but with anempirically inadequate hypothesis. This

hypothesis says that superpositions are bornalready collapsed, or at least that all of them collapse extremely quickly. Immediately,or extremely soon, what we have is not a superposition but a sharp state, and which sharpstate

we have is a matter of chance. To see why this won't work, we need to say a little more about phase. Here is what we need to know. If two branches of an unentangled superposition diverge and then re-unite,5continued

same way upon other things they encounter.I distinguish such incomplete collapses

fromlocalizations(also known

as collapses with tails).

At least Kevin thinks he’s in a room. A very empty room.

  
Localizations

are chance

redistributions

of intensity in which not quite all the intensity, but onlythe lion's share of it, becomes concentrated within

a very small sphere, and in which the intensity of abranch never falls quite to zero. Localizations, like collapses, are indeterministic interruptions of

Schrodinger evolution; nevertheless, what I shall say later about the

deterministic We conclude this section by listing some useful formulas and inequalities which are easily proved: (3.5) 20 (3.7) HUGH

EVERETT, III

I...,U

,V, \ '" 1...,UV, ... \ + IU,V\ , I...,U,V, ,W,... \ '" I...,UV ... W,... \ + IU,v, ... ,W\ (comma removal) (3.8) I....U.VW, ... ! -I. ...UV,W, ... ! '" IU,v!-

IV,W\ (commutator) , (3.9) (3.10) (3.11) (3.12) (3.13)

(3.14) (3.15)

(3.

16) Ix\ '" 0 (definition of bracket with no commas) , I...,XXV, ... \ = I...,XV, ... \ (removal of repeated variable within a group) , I...,UV,VW, ... ! = 1...,UV,w, ... \\-lv,w\\- IV (removal of repeated variable in separate groups) , IX,X\ = - IX (self

correlation) , ... wj"" ...Wj'" IU,vw,x\ = IU,v,x\ , IU,W,X\"'wj", = IU,X(,Wj'" (removal of conditioned

variables) , Ixy,z\ ~ IX,z\ , Ixy,z\ ~ IX,z\ + IY,Z\ - IX,Y\ , IX,Y,z\ ~ IX,Y! + IX,z\ . Note that in the

above formulas any random variable W may be replaced by any group XY... Z and the relation holds true, since the set XY... Z may be regarded as the single random variable W, which takes its values in the cartesian product :t x 'lJ x ... x Z. 94. Generalization and

further properties of correlation Until now we have

been concerned only with finite probability

distributions, for which we have defined information and correlation.  
  
  


There aren't any walls, just a floor, a white floor that goes on and on and on. It’s blinding

  
  
We shall now generalize the definition of correlation so as to be applicable

to joint probability distributions over arbitrary sets of

unrestricted cardinality. THEORY OF THE UNIVERSAL

WAVE FUNCTION 21 We first consider the effects of refinement

of a finite distribution. For example, we may discover that the event xi is actually the disjunction of several exclusive  
events xt,...,xf, so that xi occurs if anyone of the xf occurs, i.e., the single event xi results from failing to distinguish

between the xi. The probability distribution which distinguishes between the xi will be called a refinement of the distribution which does not. In general, we shall say that a

distribution P' = p'(xi,...,'Yj') is a refinement of P = P(xi""'Yj) if ( ) (all i, ... ,j) . ~ , -

11

_v) P xi''

'''Yj = k P (xi ,...

,yj 11... V We now state an important theorem concerning the behavior of correlation under a refinement of a joint

probability distributions: (4.1) THEOREM 2

  
  
  
and glaring,

P' is a refinement of P =9!x, ...

,yl' ~ IX,

..

. ,YI so that  
correlations never

decrease upon refinement of a distribution. (Proof in Appendix I, S3.) As an

example, suppose that we have a  
continuous probability density P(x, y). By division of the

axes into a finite number of intervals, xi' Yj' we arrive at a finite joint distribution Pij' no-collapsehypothesis

on which Schrodinger evolution is never

interrupted

almost foreboding.

  
will apply equally to localizationhypotheses.

6The so-called `Bohm interpretation

of quantum mechanics' falls nowhere in this spectrum

.Although built to be empirically equivalent to quantum

mechanics, Bohmian mechanics is not a version of quantum mechanics at all. It is a rival theory, presenting a radically different account of the workings of nature. This account is weird, weirder than some of the versions of quantummechanics we shall consider, less weird than others. But it is weird in totally different ways. SeeAlbert [1992:  
134 ff ].David Lewis7 they may be matched or mismatched in phase. If exactly matched, their intensities add (seeFigure 3A). To the extent that they are mismatched, they reinforce one another less or not at all (see Figure 3B). If they are exactly mismatched, and also equal in intensity, they cancel altogether. As a branch of a superposition goes forward from the point of diver-gence to the point of

re-uniting, its phase on arrival depends cyclically on how far Heidegger considers the human condition coldly and announces that that existence is humiliated. The only reality

is “anxiety” in the whole chain of beings. To the man lost in the world and its diversions this anxiety is a brief, fleeting fear. But if that fear becomes

conscious of itself, it becomes anguish, the perpetual climate of the lucid man “in whom existence is concentrated.” This professor of philosophy writes without trembling and in the most abstract language in the world that “the finite and limited character of human existence is more primordial than man himself.” His interest in Kant extends only to recognizing the restricted character of his “

pure

Reason.”

This is to coincide at the end of his

analyses that Consequently  
we get interference phenomena, like the pattern in the well-knowntwo-slit experiment (see Figure 3C).7But if superpositions were born collapsed, or if theycollapsed before they had gone very far, there would be no matches or mismatches of phase, so there would be no interference phenomena. And interference phenomena are in fact observed.The tenable hypotheses in our spectrum disagree about whether or when

there aremacroscopic superpositions: superpositions involving enough

particles

in entangled states to constitute  
some

macroscopic object. We can observe the interference phenomena

arising from microscopic

superpositions.

  
  
  


A feeling of nervousness, heavy and overwhelming. Why is he nervous?

  
  
We cannot observe interference phenomena arising frommacroscopic

superpositions. The reason is that if the macroscopic superposition develops new entanglements in the course of the experiment, the interference phenomena vanish(because the branches of an entangled superposition have no phases); and we cannot in practice isolate a macroscopic thing from its environment well enough  
to prevent new entanglements [Albert

1992:

88ff ]. That is why hypotheses that

disagree only about macro-scopic  
superpositions are, near enough, empirically equivalent.Take our example of the photon, the half-silvered mirror, and the macroscopic detector with

a pointer that points to `yes' or `no'. Suppose the photon has had time to reach thedetector, but the pointer has not yet been observed. One hypothesis (one out of several)says that so far we have had nothing but

Schrodinger evolution; the pointer is now in amacroscopic superposition of `yes' and `no', with equal intensities (but no phases, since the

7Imagine a row of counters above the two slits, and each one counting the particles that

reach it.  
  
  


Theinterference pattern shown at the top of

Figure 3C is a pattern of counter readings.

Why is he worried?

How do the intensities of the branches of the

superposition translate into the pattern of counter readings?–Agood question, but

one that is

differently answered by different ones of the hypotheses we

shallconsider.Figure 38How Many Lives

Has Schrodinger's Cat?pointer has become entangled with its environment); collapse will take place when someone observes the pointer, not before. Another hypothesis says that collapse hasalready taken place; the pointer is already pointing either to `yes' or to `no', but we do not yet know which. Both these hypotheses make the same probabilistic prediction

about what will be seen when the pointer is observed: `yes' or `no' with equal probabilities. Both hypotheses

invite  
the same mathematical

representation of the

pointer: a `mixture' of 50%`yes' and 50% `no' by integration of P(x, y) over the rectangle whose sides are the intervals xi

and Yj' and which represents the probability that X (Xi and Y (Yj" If we now subdivide the intervals, the

new distribution P' will be a  
refinement

of P, and by Theorem 2 the correlation IX,YI computed from P' will never be

less than that computed from P. Theorem 2 is seen to be simply the mathematical verification of the intuitive notion that closer analysis of a situation in which quantities X and Yare dependent can never lessen the knowledge about Y which can be obtained from X. But that representation “the world

can no longer offer anything to the man

filled with

anguish.”  
  
  
  
  
Why can’t he move?

This anxiety

seems to him so

much more important than all the categories in the world that he thinks and talks only of it. He enumerates its aspects: boredom when the ordinary man strives to quash

it in him and benumb it; terror when the mind contemplates death. He too does not separate consciousness from the

absurd.

The consciousness

of death is

the call of

anxiety

and

“existence

  
then delivers itself its own summons through the intermediary of consciousness.” It is the very voice of anguish and

it adjures existence “to return from its loss in the anonymous They.” For him, too, one must not sleep, but must keep alert until the consummation. He stands in this absurd world and points out its ephemeral character. He seeks his way amid

these ruins.it has travelled. is ambiguous. On the

Ærst hypothesis, the weights in the mixture are intensities of

coexisting actualities. On the second, they are probabilities of alternative possibilities. At this point, someone whose distaste for distinc-tions without any empirical difference outweighs his distaste for doublethink might insistthat the two hypotheses are not just empirically equivalent; they are one and the

samehypothesis. That would mean that collapse has somehow been conjured up out of Schrodinger evolution:

what has happened so far is nothing but FIRST PATRICIAN: Quite so. Take my

case. I lost my wife last year. I shed many tears, and then I forgot. Even now I feel a pang

of grief at times. But,  
happily,  
it doesn’t amount to much. THE OLD

PATRICIAN: Yes, Nature’s a great healer. [CHEREA enters.] FIRST PATRICIAN: Well …? CHEREA: Still

nothing. HELICON: Come, gentlemen! There’s no need for

consternation. FIRST PATRICIAN: I agree. HELICON: Worrying won’t mend matters—and it’s

lunchtime deterministic Schrodinger evolution and it is

indeterministic

collapse!  
  
  
This is empiricism gone mad. Set

it aside.We should

not conØate empirically

equivalent hypotheses. Rather, we should be prepared to admit our

ignorance [Bell 1990; Albert and Feinberg 19

93: 81].The Ærst hypothesis on our spectrum says that there are no macroscopic superpositions.Any process that might have brought a macroscopic superposition into being brings aboutcollapse instead.  
  


Why does it feel like he doesn’t belong here?

Like he’s sneaking around in an off limits part of the house that Father has specifically told him not to go in?

  
  
  
  
  
Macroscopic superpositions are born collapsed; microscopic

superposi-tions, in accordance with our

observations, are not.We can object

that

being

macroscopic is a matter of degree, collapse is all or nothing.There will have to be a law that collapse takes place when some arbitrary threshold is

crossed. This is somewhat

repugnant, though there are worse repugnancies to come.Our next hypothesis says that not only is the

outcome of a  
collapse a matter of chance,but whether collapse takes place at all is too; and that the chances of collapse at any givenmoment are such that the more macroscopic

a superposition is, the less stable it is. Now we have matters

of degree on both sides of the collapse law, so we need no

arbitrary threshold.But if the

chances are right, the upshot will be

almost the same

as that of the previoushypothesis: microscopic superpositions are stable enough to

Æt our evidence

for theirexistence,  
  
  
  
  
  
  


whereas macroscopic superpositions will in all

probability disappear very

quickly

could. THE OLD  
PATRICIAN: That’s so. We mustn’t drop the prey for

the shadow. CHEREA: I don’t like the look of things. But all was going too

smoothly. As an emperor, he was

perfection’s self. SECOND PATRICIAN: Yes, exactly the emperor we wanted; conscientious and inexperienced. Independence means that the

random variables take on values

Time goes by so slowly. Even the seconds he’s counting feel longer, stretched out.

  
  
which are not influenced by the values of

other variables with respect to which they

are

independent.

That is, the conditional

distribution of one of two

independent variables, Y, conditioned upon the value xi for the other. is

independent of xi' so that

knowledge about one variable tells

nothing of

the other.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The fourth time, Kevin comes around detached, for the lack of better words. Like he’s floating, not quite there, not quite in.

In a car, in a house, in a room, what?

And does it matter anyway, when it doesn’t even feel real?

It feels like nothing.

No, he knows what nothing feels like already. This is not nothing. If anything, it’s worse.

Kevin so desperately wants to feel anything other than that. He wants to wake up. He needs to wake up. He wants back in.

And then suddenly he is, staring at someone else with disheveled hair and skin that’s too pale, leaning over the sink, bloodshot eyes staring back. At himself.

Right, that’s what he looks like.

Right?

A finger slowly traces over his nose, stopping at a faint spot over the bridge, pained to the touch. A scar, Kevin notes. He presses down harder, taking in the uncomfortable ache that grows worse the more force he applies, then stops, letting it fade away.

Then he presses down again, counting the seconds and his own breathing.

This feels real, this static sensation with every touch that runs through him. The someone in the mirror grimaces. He grimaces.

Kevin lifts his fingers, letting the ache fade away again, focusing on where it lingers behind his ear instead.

This is real.

It doesn’t explain the scarring on his face, rounded in shape, faint red in colour and definitely not there before...

Before what? He was in a car with Jake, they were being chased, shot at, pursued. And now he’s back in the safe house, which doesn’t make sense. It couldn’t have been a dream, dreams don’t affect his actual physical body to this point. It couldn’t have been real, because then why would he be back?

This doesn’t make any sense, Kevin repeats to himself. How can he be there, and then be back?

What day is it?

They have a clock, back in the so-called bedroom. Kevin stumbles his way back, focusing at the glaring red digital light, taking in the 2:56 AM blinking at him and then the date at the corner, 18th of March. Sunday.

Jake comforting (comforted?) him, trying to get him to breathe, Sunday the 18th.

It’s not possible, Kevin thinks weakly. But he’s here, with a scar where he had been (will be) shot and the lingering pain and memory of a yesterday (today) that is not.

“Kevin?”

He jumps, startled. Jake’s awake, looking at him with sleep in his eyes, his tone as confused as Kevin’s feeling right now.

(Jake muttering about Die Hard, Jake helping him breathe, Jake calling his name in the dark.)

“I’m sorry if I woke you up,” Kevin mutters, forcing himself to calm down. “Go back to sleep, Jake.”

“Only if you will.”

He does want to lay back and fall asleep, and maybe when he wakes up everything will be normal and sensible and logical again. Yet there’s a strange awareness in him that knows it won’t be, and stranger still, Kevin trusts that awareness wholeheartedly.

“You strike a hard deal.”

Jake chuckles. “I’m not letting you stay awake alone, come on. Who do you think I am?”

“Someone who needs all the rest he can get. You look terrible, detective,” the...Kevin doesn’t want to call it an affectionate nickname, but whatever it is, slips out.

“And you don’t look so bad yourself, professor,” Jake comments, thankfully not saying anything about the mark on his face.

Whether that’s because of the bad lighting or him just ignoring it is beyond Kevin.

“Doctor,” he corrects.

“Doctor,” Jake amends.“Though between you and me, professor sounds way cooler. You know, like professor X, or professor Layten, or just The Professor. Oh that gives me chills.”

This time Kevin knows Jake has said that before. They have had this talk before, twice now. Two times that Kevin can remember at least.

His head hurts, the injury from not-quite-yesterday forcefully reminding Kevin of its not-quite-existence.

How? And better yet, why?

“Layten?” Kevin asks, repeating a version of himself. Two versions.

He needs to write all of this down, lest anything slips past. Just in case. If this is him going crazy, then he can blame it on the solitude and repetitiveness of this place, and if it’s not then...Kevin’s sure it will come in handy.

It has come in handy.

The window can be climbed out of.

“Oh? You play it too, Kev?” Jake interrupts his train of thought, the surprise clear in his voice.

“I haven’t played it personally. However a friend has told me about it.”

“You have a friend who actually plays games instead of reading old boring stuff from the ye old day?”

You told me about it, Kevin wants to say. And then a more belated realisation comes, and does he really consider Jake a friend? “He said he’s a Luke.”

Everyone would be Luke compared to you, a part of him whispers.

“Everyone would be Luke compared to you,” Jake echoes, word for word. “So, what has this friend told you? Where you two at?”

“Where are you two at, Jake. Would it kill you to use proper grammar?”

“Ugh, you and your grammar,” Jake makes air quotations with his fingers mockingly. Kevin rolls his eyes.

“Are you honestly planning to stay awake with me?” he asks instead of reprimanding Jake.

“Well yeah,” Jake scoffs like it’s obvious. Kevin supposes it is and he shouldn’t be so surprised by how fast Jake has latched onto him, if only because there really isn’t anyone else to latch onto. “Plus, we still have so many movies to go through! This is like a sleepover, or I think so at least. Not that I have never been invited to a sleepover or anything.”

“Of course. Go down and choose a movie first, I will follow you soon enough.”

Jake nods, his movements still sluggish. At this point Kevin’s more worried about Jake’s ability to walk down the stairs with how much he’s swaying right now, not even quite standing up just yet. “Be careful,” he adds.

“Careful is my middle name,” Jake replies. “Don’t keep me waiting yeah? Just sitting there is boring af.”

“It will only be a few minutes,” Kevin says, waving him off. Jake gives him another indecipherable look before he shrugs and walks out.

The stairs have a certain creakiness to them that echoes through the silence, and Kevin counts the steps, waiting until he knows Jake is fully downstairs before getting to work.

They have a pen here, somewhere along with some papers. Most of the pages are filled with doodles from Jake, some with his own handwriting that marks his futile efforts in trying to teach Jake about the classics before giving up.

Should he even write this on paper? As far as he knows, things...reset, for the lack of a better word. The gun should still be in one of the cupboards downstairs, the aspirin’s in the medical cabinet, his own body.

His own body to some degree.

It is still a bizarre concept to wrap his head around, but it’s the only concept he has. Kevin doesn’t dream, definitely not to that level of detail. Dreams don’t leave a physical scar on him and don’t predict the future (well, not quite the future) either.

Deep breaths, now is not the time to panic.

He moves his sleeve up, and reluctantly marks down 3 lines.

It is 3, right?

Jake and Raymond, Jake, and then himself.

Kevin’s stomach lurches. That has happened, and for some reason, he’s the only one who knows that has happened.

Raymond doesn’t know that Kevin signed his death sentence.

Jake doesn’t know that Kevin abandoned him not only once, but twice.

Oh.

Perhaps that’s why he’s the one reliving this then.

“Kevin! Do you want some coffee?” Jake’s sudden shout makes him jump, and Kevin quickly moves the sleeve back down. “Actually don’t answer! I’ll make two anyway!”

Right, now is also not the time to pity himself.

Kevin stands up and walks out of the room, doublechecking that the tallies are indeed covered up before entering the kitchen. Jake has his back turned to the door, probably has not even noticed that he’s here yet and Kevin takes a moment to look at Jake.

The sluggish tiredness isn’t quite there anymore, probably thanks to the mere scent of coffee in the air. Kevin has a feeling he will need a lot of it today (if he can even call the day today.)

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Kevin says. “Coffee?”

“Obviously. Well actually no, but since Captain doesn’t allow me to bring any energy drinks here.” Jake shrugs, turning over to look at him.

There’s still no reaction to the mark on his face. That makes no sense whatsoever, Kevin thinks. “That makes a lot of sense,” he says.

“Totes. Anyway, you didn’t answer, coffee or nah?”

He reaches for two cups, sliding them over to Jake. “Some couldn’t hurt.”

“I thought you think that’s unhealthy, or whatever?”

“It is.”

“Alright, cool cool cool cool cool,” Jake mutters, filling them to the brim. “Sugar, Kev? Or do you like it black like Captain’s Holt’s soul?”

“Should I even be surprised that you know how my Raymond takes his coffee?”

“Noperoni! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I will dump all of this white goodness into my cup and ignore your judgemental look.”

“You have been doing a rather good job of that so far.”

Jake can only keep up the insulted look for so long before he breaks too, and it’s nice to hear Jake laughing so freely. Has Kevin really never heard that?

Well, he supposes his sense of humour has never matched with Jake’s and vice versa. Which is a shame, but he supposes that means he will just have to enjoy this rare moment for all its worth.

Jake’s laughter fades out gradually and conversation picks up again, and for a moment Kevin lets himself relax as the back and forth sweeps him away from...that. Jake’s witty when he wants to be, and even if the jokes could use some improvements (title of your sex tape) it’s amusing.

By noon, the headache has faded, a small blessing.

By noon, Raymond comes. He looks good, but honestly, when does Raymond not? Maybe it’s because of what (had not, will not) happened but this time any irritation or anger melts away.

Kevin doesn’t want his last conversation with Raymond to be that, not when there are so many things that haven't been said between them.

Too many things.

Speaking of unsaid things anyway, Raymond hasn’t said anything about the mark either. It’s not even ignoring, Kevin notes. It’s more like he doesn’t even notice that there’s a scar there.

That’s as logical of a conclusion as Kevin can make at this point. If the not-yesterday doesn’t exist, then his scar also doesn’t exist - Raymond would never ignore that kind of scarring on his face. He frets over the smallest things, honestly.

Or this is just a big hallucination. That would not surprise him either.

Kevin shakes his head, focusing back on the present. Raymond’s offering him an orange, and he takes it. Their hands brush, and Kevin’s mesmerised, even though this has happened so many times before.

He busies himself with peeling the orange, taking his time then separating it into halves, one of which he gives to Jake with a look.

Jake chuckles. “Nooooope! The only oranges I’m eating is Orangina. Or well, I guess drinking. Well no, I can freeze them into little popsicles, that counts as eating, right?”

“Jake. Eat your orange.”

“...Fine.”

Jake takes his half without more complaining and begins eating, nibbling on each piece before biting it in half to Kevin’s mild horror and amusement. He looks away, fidgeting with his own half for a moment before separating that too.

“Raymond?” he holds a quarter out.

Raymond blinks at him. There's a clear surprise on his face, before that melts into a soft fondness that Kevin doesn’t know he’s hoping for until it happens.

Their hands brush again when Raymond reaches out. “Thank you, Kevin.”

“It’s no problem.”

He eats his own part then, chewing and swallowing in silence with Raymond and Jake, enjoying the same thing in the same moment, savouring the tangy taste.

Good oranges, nice and dry, Kevin’s mind says without prompting.

“Good oranges, nice and dry,” Raymond says. “Not at all ripe.”

He had said it as a way to fill the silence in previous...alliterations? He has never said it like this before.

Despite everything, Kevin feels at peace, even knowing that an hour or two from now it will all change.

He can tell Raymond about Murphy’s men. He won’t be able to explain how he knows, but Raymond would be paranoid enough to act on Kevin’s gut feeling. Except that right now there aren't any cars outside from what Kevin can see, and he will have to wait until they are here to say something.

Neither he nor Jake have any devices that can be used to make calls though. Kevin frowns.

“How is your schedule this afternoon, Raymond?”

“I have back-to-back meetings today at the One Police Plaza that will last for 4 hours estimated. After that I will be back at the precinct going over...whatever the team has managed to get done today.”

He knows this already. He also knows Jake has trackers all over himself.

“I hope it will go well.”

“Thank you for your consideration.”

“It’s no problem, but you’re welcome.”

Kevin nods, diverting his gaze to the window instead. It’s a nice day outside, not too sunny and based on the light wind rustling the bushes, perfect for a walk outside. There’s still no cars. “Have you made any progress regarding Murphy?”

“We have discovered a possible trace that detective Diaz and Boyle are working on, but other than that, no clear evidence pointing us to where he is,” Raymond answers. “I’m afraid you are still to remain here until further notice, Kevin.”

“I expect nothing less,” Kevin says. “Are there any chances that I can have my phone with me?”

“I have already explained this on the first day. Phones, and by extension, any electrical devices are easily traceable.”

“In case of an emergency, Raymond,” Kevin clarifies. “There’s no reliable nor viable way of contacting you if something were to happen.”

“If something were to happen,” Raymond echoes his words slowly with a clear tone of disbelief, bordering on a chuckle. Kevin can hear the left out as if. “I would be the first to know. There are cameras monitoring the safe house and at the clearest sign of aggression we will send people down. Your safety is top priority, Kevin.”

Top priority to Raymond, Kevin adds. The sentiment warms him, but that doesn’t change the fact that someone is not keeping watch 24/7, and someone was not keeping watch when Raymond was (will be) in his meetings.

The tracers are (were, would be) the only reason Raymond knows when he and Jake go out, and even that is belated.

“Still,” he sighs, then turns back to look at Raymond. “I would feel safer knowing I can reach you if worst comes to worst.” Raymond falters at his words, as expected. Normally Kevin wouldn’t do this, but it is what the situation’s calling for. “Please?”

He keeps his gaze firmly on Raymond, watching every minute change in his outward expression and approximating every minute change inside his head.

“If it helps then I will get you a burner phone tomorrow.”

And Raymond breaks in all the wrong ways. This time Kevin knows no amount of heartstring pulling will get him anywhere closer to a phone, which is a shame. “Thank you, dear,” Kevin says anyway, pauses, then adds. “I love you.”

It feels good to say it and mean it, he thinks, especially after too many weeks of them barely being on talking terms. He can tell that surprises Raymond too, his eyes having widened minutely.

“I love you too,” Raymond replies slowly, almost testing the words out on his tongue. “Kevin, I apologise for how I have been acting regarding the situation. It was, and it is... rather drastic of me.”

“If I were in your situation I would do the same.” Plus, it’s not that drastic after all, Kevin privately adds. “I apologise for how I have been acting these past weeks too.”

“It’s understandable considering the circumstances.”

“So it is.”

The conversation fades into a comfortable silence, now that Kevin doesn’t have anything else that needs to be said. And if this was their last conversation, he wouldn’t be too regretful. But it won’t be their last, Kevin will make sure of it.

He got this.

Oh, that’s where that comes from.

“I’m sorry to cut this short but unfortunately, it is now time for me to take my leave,” Raymond speaks up at some point. “Rest assured you will have a line of communication with me by tomorrow noon. Goodbye, Kevin. Peralta.”

“See ya Capt,” Jake cheerfully says. Kevin doesn’t need to look at Jake to see a grin on his face right now.

“Goodbye Raymond,” Kevin says, trying to ignore that day (today, but also not today anymore.) “Take care.”

He watches as Raymond crawls out, hearing the door click open and then close again, leaving Jake and him alone in the house.

They still have nearly two hours until the storm comes, maybe longer if Jake doesn’t get spotted. And even if he didn’t, chances are the goons would kick the door down anyway.

Two hours is a long time.

Kevin doesn’t know what to do, and better yet, what he could even do during that.

“Soooooooo, are you in a good enough mood to watch Gone in 60 seconds? Please say yes, please say yes,” Jake starts beside him, already holding the DVD up.

Well, there’s always the movie.

“You will play it if I say no anyway.”

“You know me too well! Make yourself comfortable, Kev.”

Kevin does, leaning back as Jake starts the movie that he has seen one too many times. But the movie gets Jake in a good mood: his eyes are practically glued to the screen and his grin gets wider every time Nicolas Cage is on screen.

He takes the time to look out the window instead.

“Randall Raines ... It's been a long time ...'though I do recall you as a man with style. You remember your old friend, Atley?” Jake echoes along with the actor on screen. Honestly, his memorisation skills are to die for.

Ah, bad word choice.

He sighs, throwing a quick look at the screen just in time to see the phone blink.

“Excuse me one moment, Randall.”

Then there’s a view of a bloodied windshield that’s just off enough from reality from what Kevin can recall: Jake taking a shot, the car sliding to a halt, that split second when they are (were, would be) close enough for the image to burn into his mind.

Did it look like that when he got shot too? Did it paint the windshield in such vivid colour?

Will it?

“You bring this to me in this condition? Blood and guts all over it? You make me complicit? On my property? Who taught you how to think?”

Kevin hopes the dialogue on screen is interesting enough for Jake to not notice his sudden irregular breathing or him whipping his gaze back to the window.

“And worst of all: weren't there supposed to be two Hondas?”

Three cars pulling up, generic enough that it won’t draw any attention. Not Hondas, rather a Nissan, Chevrolet and Toyota.

He should tell Jake about this. It will certainly buy them some time to decide the best course of action, whatever that may be.

He also doesn’t have concrete proof that they are Murphy’s men. What he has is a series of fantastical events that, for all Kevin knows, are a product of his mind. So what if the colour of the cars coincide perfectly? It’s three colours and three models, the probability that he got a random assortment correctly isn’t that low.

“No, no. You don't kill me, because you can't. You don't take your brother and run, because we'd find him. You don't go to the police, because we have friends there, too. You do nothing: except deal with me,” the character continues, Jake continues.

It’s still early into the movie.

Nothing will happen before Jake stands up, and a part of Kevin hopes nothing will happen when Jake stands up.

Or better yet, Jake doesn’t stand up and get into view in the first place.

The movie ends, the credits roll and Jake stands up anyway, despite Kevin telling him not to.

“It’s fine,” Jake scoffs. “We both know Captain Holt is dramatic. No one’s going to shoot me Kevin.”

“Jake, I’m serious. Sit down.”

“Relax. And hey, if they are they would have stormed in instead of posing outside aiming their...and there’s a red dot on my-”

Kevin surges up, grabbing onto Jake’s shirt and pulling him down and away from view. His hands shake, the familiar surge of adrenaline engulfing him.

Jake’s hands are steady as he takes the gun from the cupboard, checking it over before nodding to himself. “I take whatever I just said back. Kevin, you gotta go. Lock yourself in a room, barricade the damn thing.”

“Jake.”

“Quick, we don’t have much time until they decide it’s safe enough to kick the damn door down. Go!”

“There are at least three of them, all armed with better guns. You won’t make it.” Kevin hisses.

“And you staying here won’t change those odds,” Jake raises his voice. It would almost be an angry shout if his tone wasn’t shaking. “Unless you have a better plan?”

“Calm down, keep quiet. The window can be climbed out of, we’re taking one of the cars.”

“I- Yeah, that’s definitely a better plan,” Jake chuckles weakly. “Ok. Ok, let’s do that then. Stay down when you are out.”

Kevin does, crouching low and moments later Jake joins him, giving him a nod. He nods back, counting the seconds in his head until the front door gets slammed open. Despite knowing it’s coming, he jumps anyway.

“Are you sure they’re here?”

“You really gonna ask that after we seen the fucking cop at the window? That’s pure fucking confirmation, especially with Holt coming and going like that. Fucking fag.”

Kevin glances at Jake. His grip on the gun is knucklewhite.

“After you failed to take the shot more like. Search the house.”

More footsteps, and this time Kevin tries to listen to the individual beats. The stairs creak with two people walking up. There is definitely more than just one person downstairs.

“We’re clear,” Jake whispers beside him, and Kevin nods again before moving after Jake, keeping his head down.

“Downstairs is clear!”

“Well get up here and fucking help me then!”

Kevin follows until they’re at the front of the house, stops and watches as Jake picks up a rock and smashes one of the windows.

The sound of glass breaking, the crack and crash and then the sound of the engine coming to life is definitely loud enough to notify someone (it had notified someone) and Kevin quickly sprints over without Jake needing to yell.

Even without Jake’s voice, he can still pick up on the rushed heavy footsteps from the house that fade away as Jake slams on the pedal and speeds off.

“Cool cool cool, this is totes fine!” Kevin looks over.

Jake doesn’t look so calm anymore, nor is he quiet. Kevin doesn’t have the heart to tell him to calm down, especially when he knows calm will be the last emotion they’ll be feeling for the next minutes.

Outside the scenery flies past them, but not fast enough. It won’t be fast enough.

“Uh oh, we may have company-” Jake mutters, and Kevin doesn’t have to look in the mirror to see the other two cars catching up to them. “Strap in.”

“You’re the one who’s not wearing a seatbelt.”

“Whatever!” A sharp left turn, the car almost tipping, Jake leaning with the momentum. “Ok point taken, seatbelt good. Fuck, are they still following?”

“Yes.” Kevin doesn’t bother reaching for the seatbelt this time, not when he knows Jake’s plan. A part of him hopes it won’t be the same. “Where are we heading?”

“Doesn’t matter, long as we lose them!” Jake shouts over the sound of the engine revving. He slams down on the pedal, accelerating despite a rather alarming sound from the car. “Keep an eye on them.”

“Getting closer, and they’re pulling out firearms,” he replies automatically.

A gunshot.

“Fuck.”

The mirror on his side cracks, a wisp of smoke coming from where the bullet has lodged itself in.

Jake swears again. “How mad would you be if I did something totally dangerous but also totally dope?”

“Very,” Kevin answers honestly. This time he doesn’t bother with the scolding, not when time is of the essence. “What’s your plan?”

“Take the wheel,” Jake says, taking both of his hands off and Kevin lurches forward to grab it before the car has the chance to crash. “Ok, you keep us going, I’m going to stop these motherfuckers from following.”

It is the same then.

Jake rolls the window down, leans out and aims. The loud bang reverberates inside Kevin’s skull, his ears ringing. “That’s a close one, damn.”

Jake ducks back in and seconds later another shot rings out, hitting the other side mirror.

“Jake-”

“Turn left when I tell you to, and don’t stop.” Jake leans out again, not waiting for a confirmation, his gun up and ready to fire. “Yippee-Ki-Yay, Motherfucker. Now Kevin!”

He yanks on the wheel until it clunks to a stop, unable to turn any further as the car drifts around, going headfirst into their chasers.

Another shot and Kevin watches as the windshield cracks, and one of the cars turns out of control, sliding to a halt on the street and effectively blocking most of it. “Nice!”

“Get in,” Kevin raises his voice. Jake, thank god, follows his words and gets seated inside again.

“Did you see that? God I was amazing,” Jake grins. “That’s one down, one to go.”

“Yes, that was great,” Kevin sighs. His hold on the wheel gets tighter. “Get to my seat. You can aim better without needing to worry about the pedals.”

“Roger that!” The car slows down momentarily as Jake slides over to the seat without much struggle before speeding up again as Kevin takes control. “They’re coming back by the way.”

“Of course,” Kevin mutters. “Well, you know what to do I suppose.”

“You don’t sound too happy about that, but go off I guess.” Jake chuckles, adjusting the rear-view mirror, nodding slightly. “Oh yeah, I’m seeing it now. Oh, that’s a lot of guns.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah, well,” Jake leans out again. Whatever he’s saying next is barely audible from the wind and the violent rampant gunshots that keep going, and Kevin focuses back on the road instead.

Returning bullets, some that fly past them and some that definitely hit the car. One that cracks the rear window.

One that breaks the rear window, flying forward and lodging itself to the windshield.

The car’s at top speed, and even then the distance between them is getting shorter.

One that cracks the rear-view mirror, and then another and another.

“God that was close,” Jake mutters when he leans back in to reload before immediately putting himself in the line of fire again.

One that shatters the rear-view mirror into pieces, flying past.

“Kevin, stop turning, just go straight!”

His first instinct is to follow Jake’s words, correcting the path and keeping the car going in a straight line. And Kevin almost does, the wheel already turning back to the original placement.

One that’s too close.

He swerves left last second, ignoring Jake’s sudden yelp.

The bullet lodges itself to the clear windshield instead, leaving a violent crack. And Kevin lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, nearly slumping against the wheel, would have done so if they weren’t still being pursued.

But they are still in a chase, and the dashboard is blinking wildly out of the corner of his eye and that never means anything good.

Kevin straightens up, looking at the signal properly and resists the actual urge to slump down again. “Jake! Get in!”

“What?”

“Get in.”

Jake quickly does, falling back onto his seat and looking both fired up and exhausted at the same time. “Alright, no need to get all teacher-student here. God that gives me high-school flashbacks,” he mutters. “Aaaanyway, what’s up? Cause we’re really in a clutch here bud-”

“The car might be stopping any moment now,” Kevin cuts in quickly.

Jake’s mouth snaps closed with a click, then it opens before closing again. “What?”

“The car might be stopping any moment now, and we need a new plan.” Kevin shifts to the clutch pedal, pressing down. “Preferably in the next minute or two.”

“Cool cool cool cool- well actually, not cool at all,” Jake swears then swears again, cursed words getting more creative as the seconds pass. “Kevin, what?!”

“A bullet must have scraped the bottom of the car. I guess they were aiming for the tires, or maybe this was their intention, but the oil’s leaking and the car is not going to last.”

“Fuck.” Jake punctuates, summarising the situation up rather nicely. “Should we book it again? Sitting inside and waiting for them to just come by to drag us out won’t do anything.”

The car is slowing down, gradually so.

The rain of bullets shows no sign of stopping any time soon.

There are trees around them. Kevin isn’t sure how they got here, doesn’t even know the address of the safe house, but that doesn’t matter right now.

“Book it.”

Jake nods. “Alright then. Split up or nah? You can take left, I’ll go right. It would divide them up. I can buy you some time.”

He takes a breath, in and out. “That sounds good.”

“It doesn’t,” Jake shoots back easily, and in a blink of an eye the door on his side is open wide. “But that’s all we got, so gotta go fast, right Kevin?”

Jake sounds so carefree there for a moment that Kevin’s almost fooled. He gives Jake one last look, seeing the bullet flying behind him instead.

“They’ll have to reload at some point. I’ll give you a count,” Jake continues. His legs are tapping against the floor. “Just run, and don’t look back.”

“You need not worry about me, Jake. Worry about yourself.”

“Hmmmm, nah,” Jake grins. “Ok, on the count of 3. Just, run as fast as possible alright? With luck they will only graze you, or well, not hit you at all. Actually yeah, that sounds way better.”

“Jake, please.”

“Sorry. Anyway, they’re slowing down now soooo, 3 go!”

Kevin stops the car before it can stop itself, swings open his own door, turns and runs.

Runs, ignoring the sudden burn on his forearm.

Runs, trying to regulate his breathing even when his lungs feel too tight.

Being around the tall trees, weaving between the trunks helps his nerves somewhat. The chances of him getting shot here are smaller, have to be, Kevin hopes it is so.

The loud noise rings out behind him anyway, and then the telltale click of a gun getting reloaded. Again and again and again.

Keep running.

His legs ache, not from any wound. And then they burn, not violently so, merely a dull sensation that is barely distinguishable from everything else.

Kevin pushes through, even when his running is less that and more sprinting with a limp.

No, keep running. He has to.

The footsteps are getting closer, and Kevin knows he’s beat on speed.

It’s only a matter of time before someone is grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him back. The pulling becomes pushing and Kevin falls forward, and his hands stretch out on reflex to stop himself from colliding on the tree.

There’s that familiar click again, and without needing to turn back he knows a gun is being pointed at his head. He gets told to turn back anyway, and Kevin does, slowly with his hands up towards the sky until he’s looking down at the barrel.

That’s close.

For once that’s good.

“Make one move and I will fucking kill you right here,” the man growls.

“I’ll cooperate,” Kevin says, keeping his eyes leveled at the gun just so he doesn’t have to look up to see his potential killer. “Don’t shoot, please.”

The grip on the gun relaxes minutely, though the finger is still on the trigger, ready to press at any moment.

“I won’t if you behave, prof.”

“I will,” he breathes out. “Please don’t-”

The man laughs, louder and louder like he has just recited The Wasps aloud instead of begging for his life.

Good.

Kevin moves his head to the side while his hands shoot out, pushing from different directions and falling into practiced movement, grabbing and twisting the gun until the barrel is pointing away while the other keeps a sloth grip on the wrist.

Laughter’s replaced with a pained howl from a broken trigger finger —

He moves back quickly, putting distance between them, adjusting his stance and hold, then aims.

— And it quiets down until the cries from the other man are barely louder than the leaves in the wind. It’s not a good look, someone who has just pointed a gun at him now looking frightened and scared.

He aligns the sight, slowly increasing the pressure, keeping his focus.

Keep it right there keep it right there keep it right there-

Some birds fly away in the distance from the sound, his ears are ringing from the sound, and the corpse makes no more sound.

Kevin doesn’t linger, quickly taking on a sprint as best as he can with the wound he has on his leg that he knows will flare up the moment the adrenaline fades away from his system. No, that’s not important right now.

Focus.

If one of them is chasing him, that means at least three are after Jake.

He got underestimated and lucky. With Jake, Kevin isn’t sure how that fight will turn out.

It’s not a long way back to the road (had he only gotten that far?) as the trees begin to clear out and the cars move into view. There’s the car they’ve taken with a wet oil trail behind it, and the other two idling a few meters behind.

Kevin’s willing to bet there are more weapons in the cars. He’s still holding onto the handgun he got, his finger lazing along the side, pointing it straight down.

A better gun won’t make a difference, not in this case, but him waiting here will.

Kevin moves past the road to the other side. It also doesn’t take long for him to pick up noises, alarming ones at that.

Jake’s screaming.

Kevin speeds up as best as he can, taking advantage of the trees as cover.

Jake’s screaming and the sound is mixed with choked sobs.

There’s a body laying on the ground, bloodied around the chest area. He should be more worried about the fact that there’s a dead body there, but all Kevin can feel is a sense of relief that it is not Jake.

There are two others in the distance, too broad and short to be Jake’s silhouette. And then he does see Jake getting picked up, sees the two men walking in his direction and presumably back to the car.

It only takes a split second for him to duck behind another tree, trying to keep quiet as the noises get louder and louder, going from faint to intelligible.

“You sure this isn’t too much?”

“We just need to get the husband in good condition. This,” and there’s a mocking laughter. “Is just a nice bonus.”

An impact noise, almost a dull thud and Jake whimpers.

They’re ahead of him now, though still in the common 6ft range. Kevin raises his gun, lines up the sight and then the picture.

There’s a slight tremor in his hands.

Calm down. All that matters is putting the bullet where it matters. He’s wasting time.

Gently press.

One collapses like a puppet without strings. The other rushes toward Kevin.

Gently press.

That one collapses too, falling forward with the momentum. The body almost falls onto Kevin, perhaps it would have if he'd taken the shot a few seconds later. Instead it lays in front him, the outstretched arm almost touching his shoes.

And Kevin unloads the rest of the round until the gun makes a click instead of a bang, throwing that down and scrambling quickly to where Jake is instead.

He looks horrible: The bright red blood pouring from Jake’s forehead catches his eyes first, getting into his hair and down his swollen face. His neck, from what Kevin can see, is swelling too and more worryingly, laying in an unnatural way on the ground.

Kevin kneels down next to Jake, his hand almost touching but not wanting to risk anything by moving the body. “Jake? Can you hear me?”

Jake’s eyes flutter open, still responding to speech. His pupils though are uneven, one dilated whilst the other constricts. Kevin doesn’t have to take his wrist to know his heart rate is also slow right now.

“Jake?”

A wheeze answers him, one that goes on for too long. Jake’s mouth is gaping, wide open, almost like he’s trying to draw in a breath. It takes Kevin a second to realise that that is exactly what’s happening right now, and fuck.

The neck injury makes more sense now, and Kevin desperately doesn’t want to be right. But he can’t deny the slight discoloration of Jake’s skin or how various visible areas appear to be bruising.

His body’s twitching, struggling, suffering.

And Kevin can only kneel there next to Jake, watching as he tries to breathe and knowing he won’t be able to do so.

He doesn’t count the seconds that pass, doesn’t know how long Jake lays uselessly on the ground before the fight leaves his system, his body settling down. It’s not even him going unconscious, but rather a resigned acceptance.

He has never seen resigned acceptance from Jake before. There’s always something there, a fight in his light brown eyes that Kevin has grown used to during the safe house. Even in that hellmouth period it never went out.

It’s a shade Kevin hates to see on Jake.

Jake’s left hand moves, trying to raise up. The silver band catches whatever sunlight that manages to reach them through the leaves, glistening.

His mouth is moving, slowly and shakily forming shapes. Kevin doesn’t need sound to know what Jake’s asking.

“I will,” he says simply.

Jake’s hand drops the moment he answers. The grateful smile that spreads across his face stays there even when his eyes close.

In the distance Kevin can hear the loud blaring siren. He should stand up now, notify anyone out there of their location.

He’s also so tired.

Kevin slumps against the closest tree, ignoring how every movement aggravates his own wounds.

Footsteps are getting louder, spread out as they try to cover the ground.

When he sees people approaching, it’s like a switch that has been flipped and the last strand of consciousness slips away from him too.

* * *

The fifth time, Kevin doesn’t open his eyes right away.

Being scared of opening one’s eyes is ridiculous, yet right now he’s feeling exactly that. Or perhaps he’s more scared of what he’ll see, and better yet, what he won’t see.

He doesn’t even know what he wants to see.

In the end Kevin forces himself to open them anyway, taking in the muted darkness that fades away as his eyes adjust.

The white ceiling greets him along with the ever persistent stain in the corner.

The safe house.

He’s in the safe house. Which means-

Kevin sits up, frantically looking to his left and there Jake is, still sleeping soundly beside him, the clear rhythmic rise and fall of his chest showing that he’s still breathing.

Jake’s actually breathing.

Jake’s alive.

There’s no horrible bruises and wounds on his neck and face, no blood mixed with dirt all smeared across and Kevin lets out a sigh of relief. There’s no signs of asphyxiation, no trouble breathing, just Jake laying there deep in his sleep. It’s just the clear white skin that catches the red light of the alarm clock.

Right, the alarm clock.

It blinks mockingly at him, the clear 18th of March, Sunday in the corner that says more than just the date of today.

It was Sunday the 18th.

Whatever relief he felt dissipates.

It is Sunday the 18th.

Kevin has half a mind to get out of bed, out of the bedroom quietly, stumbling (away from Jake) to the bathroom and locking the door behind him before reality crashes in.

Reality is both the right and wrong word to describe it.

He moves his sleeve up, staring down at the angry red line across his forearm that flares, sending a jolt of pain through him and then the three contrasting black lines and tries not to shut down.

It’s actual, it’s real.

His hand shakes as he grabs the nearest pen and marks down another line.

It’s his reality now. And isn’t that a thought?

Breathing is hard, and doing it quietly is harder. Kevin can’t help the gasping from slipping out even when his hands are covering his mouth, can’t stand it and can’t stand the building pressure on his forearm and his leg and can’t stand how loud his heart is beating in his chest.

He can’t do this.

He couldn't keep Jake alive last time either.

And suddenly Jake’s body is there in front of him, blood pooling around his head. He’s staring at Kevin with his uneven pupils, his mouth is moving but no sound comes out and something is threatening to spill out beside the tears.

He has (will, no, he won’t-) failed Jake.

Jake’s hand is moving up, moving toward him, pointing at him-

Kevin lurches forward, heaving and choking over the sink. His shoulders shake. And even when there’s nothing left something still pushes up and he coughs and retches and it’s still too much.

The room is spinning.

Room.

He’s in a room, he’s not in a forest.

He’s in a room, surrounded by four walls and not the tall trees.

There’s a shower in one corner of the room, a window with its blinds closed, a light that’s not on, and there’s no Jake. Jake is sleeping in the bedroom, in the safe house.

He’s in the safe house, it is still Sunday the 18th, too early in the morning. His name is Kevin Cozner, and he has not gone insane from getting locked up.

This is real. The marks on his arm say it’s real, the burn on his leg says it’s real, all the minor injuries he has say it’s real.

The pain fades somewhat, slowly turning into a dull background sensation.

He switches the water on, letting the sound fill the silence and wash away the mess. A splash of water to his face helps, and Kevin wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand.

It’s Sunday the 18th, and it will be Sunday the 18th tomorrow, and the day after that, and so on.

His grip on the sink loosens, getting feeling back in his knuckles.

Kevin doesn’t know how, but he doubts dwelling on the how would help him right now. He has more important things to do.

Like breathing for example, slowly, matching the count in his head until he doesn’t have to do it manually anymore. And then after that, keeping Jake and himself alive.

Both of those things should be so simple, yet right now he’s struggling with the former and Kevin knows he will be struggling with the latter when Murphy’s men come.

“Kevin?” He jumps at the sudden noise that’s followed closely by the knocking on the door. “Are you there pal?”

He has tried to be quiet, but apparently it’s not enough to not notify Jake. Kevin takes another breath and turns off the water. “Yes Jake, I am here. Now what is so urgent that you have to bother me in the bathroom?” he calls out, hoping that the snark there is enough to mask the shakiness in his voice.

“Can’t I just be worried for my best friend?”

“We’re not best friends. Acquaintances at best.” Jake’s chuckle is muffled. Kevin hates how his hands don’t shake as much anymore, how his chest doesn’t feel as tight as it is just by exchanging a few words with Jake.

It’s the re-enforcement that Jake’s here and alive, and he needs to keep Jake alive. That must be it.

“Are you planning to stay out there until I come out?”

“Dunno yet. Depends, are you going back to bed when you’re out?”

He could easily lie and say yes. “Most likely not.”

“Well that answers that then.”

“Go down first, I will follow you soon enough,” Kevin calls out. “Perhaps you can even set a movie up for us to watch if it isn’t too much of a bother.”

There’s a pregnant pause before Jake answers him. “You’re actually asking to watch a Nic Cage movie? What? Oh my god, who are you and what have you actually done to the real Kevin?”

That is a good question. Kevin looks up at the mirror, taking in the mess that’s staring back and sighs. “Don’t push it.”

“You can’t expect me not to when you just proclaimed your love for Nic Cage!”

“I tolerate seeing his face on screen the same way I’m tolerating you right now.”

“Again, ouch. Keep talking like that and we’re watching Con Air, sir.”

“Don’t.”

There’s another wheezing sound from Jake, the good kind, the happy laughing kind. “Well, don’t take too long yeah?” Kevin hears, and then he hears footsteps walking away from the door and then seconds later the stairs creak before that fades away too.

It’s strangely quiet now.

Kevin looks down at his arm again, a part of him hoping the red line from earlier is not there anymore.

It’s still there. The four black lines are still there.

He pulls his sleeve down, making sure it has covered everything up before walking downstairs, bypassing the living room entirely and going to the kitchen instead.

Jake’s there, just as Kevin guessed. His back is turned to the door, oblivious to Kevin’s presence. The heavy scent of coffee is in the air, just like the not quite yesterday.

“Coffee?” Kevin asks anyway.

“Obviously. Well actually no, but since Captain doesn’t allow me to bring any energy drinks here.” Jake shrugs.

“That makes a lot of sense.”

“Totes. You want some or nah?”

He reaches for two cups, sliding them over to Jake. “Some couldn’t hurt.”

“I thought you think that’s unhealthy, or whatever?”

“It is.”

“Alright, cool cool cool cool cool,” Jake mutters, filling them to the brim. “Sugar, Kev? Or do you like it black like Captain Holt’s soul?”

“Yes please.”

Jake looks momentarily surprised before he shrugs again. He slides Kevin the sugar while he opens the fridge and gets the milk. Soon enough his cup has a light brown colour, and Kevin takes a sip, humming. Jake’s still drinking when Kevin puts his cup down, or Kevin supposes he should call it chugging.

“I’m sorry for waking you up, by the way,” Kevin says.

When Jake puts the cup down it is empty and there’s a trace of coffee on his upper lip. “It’s fine,” Jake finally answers, making a move to go and refill his cup. “You didn’t wake me up.”

“Ah.” Kevin raises his cup up and takes another well-needed drink. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Jake shrugs. “Wouldn’t want to bother you with it. Really, it’s fine.”

He watches Jake for another second before looking away. “It wouldn’t be a bother. I offered, after all.”

“Well. Maybe after The Sorcerer's Apprentice,” Jake grins at him. “Oh come on, you know you love it.”

“I didn’t love it after the first second and third time, why do you think this time will be different?”

“I’m hoping you will develop Stockholm Syndrome to Nic Cage at some point.”

“I’m choosing the movie next time.”

Jake laughs, dragging him out of the kitchen and back on the couch. The Sorcerer's Apprentice is already set up and ready to play, and Kevin braces himself for another 109 minutes of horrible movie and Jake being excited about a horrible movie.

For once Jake actually likes the main character better than whoever Nicholas Cage plays in this one too, Dave. If Kevin has to guess, the very obvious awkwardness between Jake and Dave might be a selling point.

Yet Jake doesn’t recite any dialogue this time, there’s no miming along to the action on screen, nothing. He’s just sitting there next to Kevin, staring at the screen, and Kevin knows Jake’s not watching any of it.

“Oh my god...It was all a lie…” the movie plays, Dave speaks. “Who are you?”

The special effects take place, plasma bolts and slow motion with sparks and everything else. Usually Jake would be yelling along with Dave and then switching to yelling as Nicolas Cage, and Kevin would have to hide a smile at the ridiculous one man back and forth.

Instead Jake’s shaking.

“Dave, stop!”

Jake flinches. Jake's never flinched at this part before.

Dave’s underwater, his watch turning into a steel shackle that’s attached to a cinder block. His eyes go wide as the last bubbles of air jettison from his lungs and he is dragged down towards a blackness seemingly without end.

Kevin only hesitates for a second before he places a hand on Jake’s shoulder. Jake jumps, but his eyes don’t leave the screen. “Jake, calm down. Breathe with me.”

Dave’s reaching up, reaching toward the fading light and a hand snatches him and hoists him out of the water, throwing him to the floor against a lab console. And he’s coughing violently, catching his breath, looking up at Nicolas Cage standing over him.

Jake draws in a shaky breath. ”Sorry,” he stammers out, looking down at the floor. “I...Yeah, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Kevin says. “Do you want to talk about it now?”

“I probably should,” Jake sighs. “Are you sure it won’t be a bother?”

“Again, I offered.”

Jake’s fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie. The floor must be very interesting for him to stare at it that long, that intensely. “You didn’t wake me up, I kinda- woke up from a nightmare. I was drowning.”

Oh. Kevin’s eyes widen in mute shock.

“I don’t even know how I got there in the first place, to be honest. I was just suddenly there, and my limbs were all rigid and I couldn’t control my hyperventilating and-” Jake’s voice goes up, unsteady, and he stops and tries to clear his throat. “It was black around me and I couldn’t see my hands underneath the water.”

Jake’s leaning toward him, and Kevin lets him. In a selfish way it helps him too, Jake’s a comforting weight that’s a high contrast from Kevin not letting himself even touch Jake after his eyes closed.

Why drowning, why that specifically?

He brings his hands up and hugs Jake. There’s the faintest sensation of something wet against his shoulder where Jake’s head is. Kevin elects to ignore that, even when it gets more pronounced.

“You can breathe now,” he says, to Jake, to himself. “In, hold and out. Breathe with me, alright?”

He can feel Jake nod and he can hear the shaky attempt. “I was never scared of water as a kid or anything,” Jake continues after a beat. “I don’t know why or where that even came from. But one minute I was underwater and the next I was awake and you weren’t there and the rest, well, you know…”

Jake doesn’t remember.

Yet in a cruel twist, he does. And out of all things it could’ve been, that just has to be what plagues Jake from the last cycle to this one.

Kevin wants to destroy something, to break glasses or tear out pages of a book he couldn’t care less about, to let his frustration out. Instead he holds Jake closer.

“Hey Kevin?” Jake’s voice is so small and muffled that Kevin barely catches a word. “Thanks.”

You would probably do the same thing for me anyway… probably.

“You’re welcome,” Kevin says.

They fall into a comfortable silence, one Kevin never thought would be possible with Jake around. At some point Jake leans back, looking anywhere but at him and the tip of his ears are red and Kevin can’t help a small bubbling laugh.

“Do you want to watch something else?” he asks, looking at the last line of the white credits.

Jake hums, picking up his cup, looking at it before placing it down again. “Weirdly enough, I don’t. Just, not up to it, I guess.”

“Now who are you and what have you actually done to the real Jake?” Kevin echoes. It has the desired effect when Jake gives a surprised laugh, shaking his head lightly.

“Shut up.”

“If that’s what you want, though being more polite about a request like that would not hurt anyone.”

Jake doesn’t reply. It’s fine by him, and Kevin takes the time to flip through the events of the previous loops, sorting through the ones he can remember. Raymond would come by, and if Jake could remember his death (as horrific as it is) he wonders if Raymond would actually bring a burner phone before Kevin could even ask by pushing him enough.

After that and a movie, Murphy’s men would come.

Kevin supposes he can lie to Jake, just say how he has seen those three cars multiple times in the past week parking exactly right there, conveniently giving them a view of the window. If they can’t do anything in the meantime, at least neither of them will be caught by surprise when something happens.

And if it does come to a car chase where every variable is up to the wind the moment his foot hits the pedal, then Kevin can only hope Jake has better aim than the goons.

“Actually,” Jake starts, cutting his train of thought off. “Can you just talk about whatever? Well, perhaps not whatever, I don’t need another session of talking about the dead people books. That is actually gonna put me to sleep, no offense.”

“None taken?” He looks around, his eyes stopping at a chess set. Kevin has never managed to convince Jake to try it before, and perhaps right now would be the time. “How up are you for a game of chess?”

“Kev, bud, I don’t play any chess whatsoever,” Jake points out, but he’s sitting up straighter and looking interested. “I don’t even know how pieces move.”

“I will give you a basic rundown, and we’ll see how you like it.”

“Alright then. Take it away, prof!”

The incorrect designation seems to be a constant. He wonders: if he corrected Jake right now would that launch them into another conversation about that one game Jake has a special connection with?

“It’s doctor,” Kevin tests, pulling the board out and setting up the pieces.

“Doctor,” Jake amends. He picks up a pawn, and with a quick look to Kevin’s side, copies the placement. “Though between you and me, professor sounds way cooler. You know, like professor X, or professor Layten, or just The Professor. Oh that gives me chills.”

“Layten?” Kevin prompts.

“Oh? You play it too Kev?” Jake asks, the surprise clear in his voice.

“I haven’t played it personally. However a friend has told me about it.”

“You have a friend who actually plays games instead of reading old boring stuff from the ye old day?”

As much as Kevin denies it, and joked about it earlier, Jake really is his friend. He knows better than to admit it right now though. “He said he’s a Luke.”

“Everyone would be Luke compared to you,” Jake says, just as expected. “Hey, since I’m chessing with you, do you want to play that together when we get out of this? Ya know, titting tatting.”

“I refuse to process your word choice and therefore your entire question,” Kevin says, smiling up at Jake. “Now, shall we start?”

Jake nods. Jake is also very good at chess once he knows which piece does what and how they move. Kevin supposes he’s not surprised: Jake is smart despite what some of his behaviours may imply.

“Check,” Jake grins triumphantly, leaning back on the couch.

“Good job,” Kevin says, and in a move, takes Jake’s rook and frees his king and also, “Checkmate.”

“What?! When did you- how did I not see that?” Jake stutters, looking at the board before rearranging the pieces himself. “Rematch! There’s no way I’m not winning at least one game.”

“I can always blindfold myself if that’s what you need to win.”

“One, rude. Two, I’m beating you fair and square and there’s nothing you can do about that,” Jake says, moving his pawn and starting the game. “Three, you’re definitely doing that after I win. I want to see blindfold chess.”

“Of course.”

When Raymond comes, Jake hasn’t won but he has come close one or two times. He looks surprised when he sees Jake hunching over the board, and Kevin thinks he looks more surprised when he sees the actual board itself.

Then he starts joining in, notifying Jake of his mishaps and ruining most of Kevin’s plans. When was the last time he and Raymond played anyway?

“Stalemate,” Raymond says, leaning back.

“You have always liked this particular endgame,” Kevin replies, pushing his king face down, a habit he has picked up from Jake. It does make a satisfying click. “Good thing the outcome of stalemates was standardised as a draw then.”

“What? No! Oh come on!” Jake throws his hands up, before folding them petulantly. “That is so not a draw.”

Kevin shrugs, moving the board and pieces up on the couch, clearing out some space. “Even if it wasn’t, that win would be between Raymond and you. I recall you saying you yourself would beat me.”

“Uggggh.” Jake leans back, staring at the ceiling for a moment before he bounces back. “Anyway, sorry about that Capt. Didn’t notice the time, and then poof, here you are. What’s up?”

“There is nothing up, Peralta. I am merely here to check on you two.”

“Awww, you do care.”

Raymond doesn’t reply, merely sitting down and pulling out a bag of oranges. He offers Kevin one.

He takes it, their hands brush, and even now, knowing that this has happened so many times before, Kevin is still mesmerised. He takes his time peeling the orange, separating it into halves and then one half into quarters.

One half he hands Jake with a look and a raised eyebrow. “Jake?”

“Oh- sure,” Jake says, taking it with slight hesitation. He separates it into pieces, picking one up and looking at it for a second before biting it in half. It is still amusing and at the same time horrible, Kevin thinks, looking away and offering Raymond the quarter.

Raymond blinks at him. There's a clear surprise on his face, and Kevin holds back a chuckle at the fact that this trip has been nothing but surprises after surprises for Raymond. His expression then melts into a soft fondness that Kevin was expecting but his heart still doesn’t know how to deal with even after years of being with Raymond.

Their hands brush again when Raymond reaches out. “Thank you, Kevin.”

“It’s no problem.”

Kevin eats his own part then, chewing and swallowing in silence with Raymond and Jake, enjoying the same thing in the same moment, savouring the tangy taste.

Good oranges, nice and dry, Kevin thinks, and a split second later Raymond says the words aloud.

“Good oranges, nice and dry. Not at all ripe.”

“They are,” Kevin agrees. Jake gives a vague hum, wiping away the juice with his hoodie sleeve. How he makes that much of a mess with half an orange is beyond Kevin. “How is your schedule this afternoon, Raymond?”

“I have back-to-back meetings today at the One Police Plaza that will last for 4 hours estimated. After that I will be back at the precinct going over...whatever the team has managed to get done today.”

It’s still the same thing that Kevin already knows. Which is good, in a way, and horrible, in many other ways. “I hope it will go well.”

“Thank you for your consideration.”

“It’s no problem, but you’re welcome.” It is an interesting experience, repeating what you have already said and knowing what the reply will be. “Have you made any progress regarding Murphy?”

“We have discovered a possible trace that detective Diaz and Boyle are working on, but other than that, no clear evidence pointing us to where he is,” Raymond answers. “I’m afraid you are still to remain here until further notice, Kevin.”

“I expect nothing less.” He shifts, only glancing at the window once to check before looking back at Raymond. “Is there any chance that I can have my phone with me?”

“I have already explained this on the first day. Phones, and by extension, any electrical devices are easily traceable.”

“In case of an emergency, Raymond,” Kevin clarifies. “There’s no reliable nor viable way of contacting you if something were to happen.”

“If something were to happen,” Raymond echoes his words slowly with a clear tone of disbelief, bordering on a chuckle. Kevin can hear the left out as if. “I would be the first to know. There are cameras monitoring the safe house and at the clearest sign of aggression we will send people down. Your safety is top priority, Kevin.”

Hearing that said aloud warms him, but that doesn’t change the fact that things will go very wrong when Raymond’s in his meeting.

“Still,” he sighs. “I would feel safer knowing I can reach you if worst comes to worst.” Raymond falters at his words, though Kevin knows he won’t get what he wants. “Please?”

The least he can hope is this will pay off some day. It’s not like Kevin loses much trying this, it’s merely a short conversation.

“If it helps then I will get you a burner phone tomorrow.”

Some day. “Thank you, dear,” Kevin says, then adds. “I love you.”

Raymond freezes up like a deer in headlights.

“I love you too,” Raymond replies slowly, almost testing the words out on his tongue. “Kevin, I apologise for how I have been acting regarding the situation. It was, and it is... rather drastic of me.”

“If I were in your situation I would do the same.” He honestly would, Kevin muses. “I apologise for how I have been acting these past weeks too.”

“It’s understandable considering the circumstances.”

“So it is.”

The conversation fades into a comfortable silence, now that Kevin doesn’t have anything else that needs to be said.

“I’m sorry to cut this short but unfortunately, it is now time for me to take my leave,” Raymond speaks up at some point, and this time Kevin glances at the clock and remembers the time, just in case. “Rest assured you will have a line of communication with me by tomorrow noon. Goodbye, Kevin. Peralta.”

“See ya Capt,” Jake cheerfully says. Kevin doesn’t need to look at Jake to see a grin on his face right now.

“Goodbye Raymond,” Kevin says simply. “Take care.”

He watches as Raymond crawls out, hearing the door click open and then closed again, leaving Jake and him alone in the house.

They still have nearly two hours until Murphy's men make a move, maybe longer if Jake doesn’t get spotted. And even if he didn’t, chances are they would kick the door down anyway.

Two hours is a long time.

Kevin doesn’t know what to do besides wait until the cars arrive.

“Soooooooo, are you in a good enough mood to watch Gone in 60 seconds? Please say yes, please say yes,” Jake starts beside him, already holding the DVD up.

Well, there’s always the movie.

“Why not?”

“That’s- huh. I was expecting more of a struggle, to be honest,” Jake shrugs. “Well, either way, make yourself comfortable, Kev.”

Kevin does, leaning back as Jake starts the movie that he has seen one too many times. But the movie gets Jake in a good mood: his eyes are practically glued to the screen and his grin gets wider every time Nicolas Cage is on screen instead of freezing up like before.

He takes the time to look out of the window instead.

“Randall Raines ... It's been a long time ...'though I do recall you as a man with style. You remember your old friend, Atley?” Jake echoes along with the actor on screen.

Kevin hates how the dialogue is also starting to stick in his head. He sighs, looking at the screen just in time to see the phone blink.

“Excuse me one moment, Randall.”

Then there’s a view of a bloodied windshield that’s just off enough from reality from what Kevin can recall. He looks away again.

“You bring this to me in this condition? Blood and guts all over it? You make me complicit? On my property? Who taught you how to think? And worst of all: weren't there supposed to be two Hondas?”

Three cars pulling up, generic enough that they won’t draw any attention. Same brand, same colour, as expected.

“No, no. You don't kill me, because you can't. You don't take your brother and run, because we'd find him. You don't go to the police, because we have friends there, too. You do nothing: except deal with me,” the character continues, Jake continues.

It’s still early into the movie.

Kevin sighs, before tapping on Jake’s shoulder. “We’re being watched.”

“Excuse me what now?”

“Don’t be obvious,” Kevin says, waiting for Jake to nod before continuing. “There are three cars outside, opposite to that window. They have been in the same spot at the same time for the past week, just parked there and done nothing.”

“Oh,” Jake whispers. “Are you sure? It could be the neighbours, for all we know.”

“They are armed.”

Jake curses softly, looking away from the window. “That’s not good. What should we do? Raymond’s not checking the camera right now so there’s no way we can notify him. Damn, maybe you were onto something with the burner phone idea.”

“Jake.”

“Sorry. Do you think they will do something?”

Definitely, Kevin thinks. “Yes,” he says. “Which is why I’m notifying you about this. Don’t get into view.”

“I’m not that dumb.”

“Debatable. Literally, we can have a structural debate about it, though any debate against you is an automatic win.”

“Kevin.”

“Apologies. It has been a long few days.”

Kevin doesn’t mean for that to slip out, but Jake merely hums, nudging his shoulder. “I don’t blame you,” he says, and Kevin’s more than grateful that Jake took that sentence at face value. “Still, we need to think of a plan or something right about now, you know? Bad guys are literally at our door kinda situation.”

“They will storm through the door at some point,” Kevin says. “A lock won’t be a problem at all. Locks keep out honest people.”

How does he know that? That’s a detail he doesn’t remember experiencing, but he knows with a certain conviction, the same conviction he had with the fact that the window can be opened and the gun is in the cupboard, that it is right.

How many loops is he missing, exactly?

“Either way we’re fucked then,” Jake says. “Do you think all of them are gonna come in together?”

“They know there has to be someone else staying with me, a police officer, so chances are yes. Three cars, so at least three people, maybe more.”

Four people, three of which he shot.

“Those are not very good odds.”

Kevin shakes his head. “No, which is why we should try to avoid that situation. Wait for them to move to the front door then get out while we can through other ways. The cars would be left empty then.”

It doesn’t take much for Jake to catch on, and once he does he gasps. “Oh my god you’re actually suggesting we steal a car. Gone in sixty seconds!”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Jake grins. “Ok, how are we getting out if they are at the front door? Cause as much as I love you Kev, I am not sprinting past at least three maniacs with guns.”

Kevin stifles a sigh. “The window in the room back there can be climbed out of. Grab your gun before we go, and hope for the best.”

“Done and deal,” Jake says. “You watch the movie, I can keep an eye out for any movement.”

“I would very much rather not, full offense Jake.”

The movie plays in the background anyway without anyone watching, and every now and then Kevin can hear the loud explosions and sound effects from the tv. He lets Jake take the window view, focusing on the clock instead and watching as the hands tick and spin.

The movie ends, and ten minutes later Jake nudges him. “You’re right, those guys are armed. And moving. Ok, let’s prepare to wrap this party up and let’s roll!”

And to Kevin’s...he isn’t sure what he’s feeling exactly, watching as Jake does a roll from the couch to the cupboard, badly enough that he nearly hits his head against the corner, but it’s nothing positive.

Someone’s knocking on the door, and Kevin grabs Jake’s arm and drags him to the window. It’s still a nice day outside, and he crouches down on reflex the moment his feet touch the grass outside. Jake lands next to him moments after, nodding at him and bringing a finger up to his lips.

Stay quiet, obviously.

Kevin doesn’t wait, just moves as quickly as he can. The front door should slam right about now, but he doesn’t pay any mind to that or the sound of people storming in or the voices in the house.

Jake’s still moving and Kevin follows until they’re at the front of the house. This time he doesn’t stop when Jake gives him the sign to, instead heading over to the other car.

If the car chase’s going to happen, the obvious solution would be to get rid of their cars. Kevin doubts the idea of scraping the bottom of the car would even occur to him if it weren’t for what happened.

He crouches down, picking up a nearby rock, and goes to town with it. It doesn’t take long before the oil spills down, and he quickly ditches and rushes over to Jake.

“Kevin!”

Or he would have if not for the sudden hold around his neck that presses backwards and another that pushes his head forward. The arms constrict, squeeze, and Kevin tries not to go with the momentum and lean back.

He presses his chin down instead, trying to drop down in a crouch. His hands move at the same time, one coming up and pulling down the hand choking him and the other shooting back, elbowing the groin.

There’s a sharp exhale behind him, and he pushes back at the face. A quick rotating movement has Kevin pressing against the goon’s shoulder, knocking him off balance, and he goes down with ease.

He stumbles away, turning and running to Jake’s car. It’s not that far away, and he’s so close and he’s falling down and he isn’t even aware that he’s the one screaming until a hand is clasped over his mouth and something is being injected at his shoulder muscle.

He sees Jake looking down at his body, and Kevin tries to tell him to press it and get out while he still can. Something must have gone through because Jake nods, and he’s suddenly alone with four others surrounding him.

Though he’s not that focused on that part. Not when his leg’s bleeding, though Kevin can’t quite pinpoint where exactly he has been shot.

There’s no pain to direct his attention to.

There are dialogues happening around him, but everything is muted. He’s being pulled, Kevin notes, both physically and in other ways.

Was it Ketamine? Or Benzodiazep- something?

Oh, he’s forgetting words now. That is not a good sign.

Unconsciousness takes his body within two minutes.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Kevin wakes up to water being splashed at his face, some getting into his mouth and he leans forward, coughing it out. Everything is blurry around him, not even the concrete floor he’s staring at is in focus and may even be spinning.

Everything is definitely spinning when he gets yanked up by the hair until Murphy’s looking directly at him with a satisfied grin on his face.

“Nice nap?”

If he wasn’t tied to a chair he would have punched the guy for all that has happened up until now. But he is tied to a wooden chair, the rope digging into his wrists and around his torso, so Kevin settles on a scowl.

“Not the best,” Kevin answers. Murphy laughs at him loudly, releasing his grip and walking back from Kevin. “Hello Murphy, what can I help you with today?”

“Polite and straight to the point. I like it.” Murphy still has a mocking grin stretched on his face as he pulls out a phone from his pocket. “You can help me by sitting there, looking pretty until Raymond comes. Then I’m going to kill you in front of him, let him watch you suffer then kill him too.”

“Very...dramatic of you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is just another day of business.” Murphy’s typing something into the phone, the beeping echoing off the warehouse they’re in. “Which, no hard feelings Kevin. I really didn’t want you to get involved, you know, but Raymond is really poking his nose around things he shouldn’t. And I can’t have that here.”

“He’s a police officer. I would be more surprised if he wasn’t doing that.”

“Point, point.” He walks over to Kevin, turning the phone to face him. Raymond’s phone number stares back. “Well, here is his chance to really get up close and personal with my work here. Think he’ll take it?”

“You and I both know the answer to that question,” he replies measurely. Murphy doesn’t say anything back, and Kevin’s more than happy to let the silence continue until Murphy’s hand shakes from holding the phone in the same position for too long.

He’s shaking too, whatever they gave him is wearing off and now Kevin can actually feel the pulsing burn at his ankle where the bullet had entered.

“Is that all you have to say?” Murphy finally prompts. “I literally just threatened to kill you and the love of your life, and this is how you’re reacting?”

He thinks he can see one of the goons holding back a chuckle.

“It’s the drug,” Kevin answers. “I don’t suppose you can give me more?”

“Sadly no. I need you to be awake for this.”

“You don’t, but you want to hear Raymond’s reaction to my voice.” Murphy shrugs, doesn’t bother denying his accusation. “Can you press call, my hands are unavailable at the moment.”

Their peanut gallery is definitely laughing now. At least someone is laughing, even if said someone are the people who have shot at him, killed him one time, drugged him a while ago and generally made his life a living hell.

“It would be my pleasure.”

The dial tones beep, and Kevin counts 3 seconds before Raymond picks up.

“Hello, this is Raymond Holt speaking.”

“Hello Raymond,” Kevin says. He hears a sharp intake of breath, and wonders if Jake has arrived at the precinct yet. He hopes Jake has. “This is your husband, Kevin Cozner. I am with your...fellow associate? Seamus Murphy, I believe is his full name.”

Murphy shoots him a look before moving the phone away and up to his ear. “Associate, god. Your husband’s a real joker, you know?”

Murphy has also turned the speaker off, and now Kevin has to sit there and listen to a one sided conversation. Never a good thing to listen to.

“He’ll be safe as long as you cooperate. No tricks like last time, you hear me?”

Tricks? Last time?

“8221 Oak Ridge Parkway. Come alone, don’t bring backup. The moment I see a cop that isn’t you around here, your husband’s dead.”

Kevin frowns, testing the rope around his wrists. His movement stops when Murphy turns back toward him, holding the phone out again. “Any last words? Just in case Ray Ray here doesn’t follow the rules?”

“He’s planning to kill us both in the end. Don’t come for me or alone.” Kevin’s positive that his answer is saying a lot of things about his state of mind, but right now, he couldn’t care less.

He doesn’t know what Raymond’s reply is since Murphy has quickly hung up the moment Kevin stops talking, maybe even before he finished his sentence. Murphy’s also looking at him with a raised eyebrow, a frown tugging at his lips.

“What was that?”

“My last words, as you so wonderfully called it,” Kevin shrugs. “What’s the surprised look for? I’m sure this isn’t the first time your hostage reacts like that.”

“I wasn’t expecting it from you.”

“Being stuck in a house for weeks on end does that to a person.” Being stuck in a day for who knows how long (definitely not him because apparently there are days that he doesn’t have any memory of) does that to a person. “Thank you very much for that, by the by.”

“You’re welcome.” Murphy crouches down until they’re at eye-level. Kevin rolls his eyes. “Do you think we should rough you up a bit before Raymond comes?”

“It won’t matter in the end, will it?”

Murphy sighs. “I suppose it won’t. But it would be very satisfying.”

He sees Murphy drawing his hand back, before a sharp pain at his stomach makes him want to double over. His head drops forward as his breath gets knocked out of him, and above him Murphy laughs.

Kevin’s starting to really hate that laugh.

“Feeling satisfied yet?” he asks after several deep inhales, trying to replenish the air that just suddenly left his body.

“Not yet, but we’re getting there. You never know how much you need a punching bag until you give it a try.”

“Big words for someone who can’t even make a proper fist.”

Murphy pauses. Or perhaps a better way to describe it would be him freezing up. The next breath from him is shaking, and he’s looking at Kevin strangely again, and some part of him wants to keep egging Murphy on despite the consequences. “I had higher expectations for someone who’s supposed to be the head of a crime family.”

“What did you just say to me?”

“I said what I said.”

“And what would a classics professor from Columbia know about making a proper fist?”

“I’m married to a police officer.”

“Touché,” Murphy mutters, shaking his head. “For a teacher you’re very good at discouraging people, you know that right?”

“I’m not in class right now if you haven’t noticed.”

“So you’re not,” Murphy sighs, snapping his fingers. Immediately a chair gets carried over, positioned right next to him, and Murphy sits down with his legs propped up on Kevin’s thighs. “What else has Raymond taught you? Some more self defence techniques?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. You can ask one of your friends there about it.” It’s the first time Kevin directly looks at the other four, and they are much bigger than he remembered them to be.

“I heard some complaining.”

“I don’t think you have any right to complain when someone you’re trying to capture fights back.”

“Fair enough.” Murphy sighs again, taking out the phone, turning it on, glancing at it once only to put it back in his pocket. “When do you figure Raymond will get here?”

“An hour or so more, maybe,” Kevin shrugs. “Depends if the precinct will let him go or not.”

“His precious precinct, right. You know, at first I was surprised that they are all such a tightly knit unit,” he continues. “But I suppose it makes sense. A captain that’s always looked down on, and his team of ragtag detectives. Do you think you will see all of them in an hour or so, Kevin?”

“Not all, no,” Kevin admits. “But I imagine there will be some familiar faces.”

“All coming to save you, how nice.”

“That’s more Raymond’s objective,” Kevin corrects. “The rest are here for you. Best of luck, I suppose.”

They lapse into a silence, one that's neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. It’s not quite a silence either, with all the background noises and whatnot, the tapping of shoes against concrete and the occasional grumbling that’s too far away for Kevin to make out any words, not that he cares.

The pain around his ankle flares, and when Kevin gives an experimental move, it sends a jarring blast of lightning into his brain. He grits his teeth, holding the gasp in.

Murphy notices. Of course he notices, he has been watching Kevin like a hawk throughout this, his gaze changing rapidly from one look to another but all of them have been intense. His leg lifts up before letting gravity pull it back down, pushing Kevin’s legs down and adding more pressure to the wound.

He won’t give Murphy the pleasure of hearing him scream, even when the pain ramps up to searing, blinding agony each time Murphy repeats his movement.

“This is a lot more fun than sitting in silence and waiting, you know?” Murphy asks, stilling his movement.

Kevin knows whatever he says will be accompanied by shaky gasps that stop him from saying anything properly. So he doesn’t, merely glaring at Murphy and wishing that looks could indeed kill.

Outside there’s a distinct loud noise of cars. Murphy gives Kevin a final smile before finally standing up. And of course he couldn’t leave Kevin alone for one minute.

Seconds later there’s a knife to his throat, not pressing in but merely laying there on the skin.

The sudden coldness is welcoming to say the least, though he could do with less reminders of the fact that one wrong move and his throat will be slit. The blood would get everywhere, and he doesn’t fancy looking like a victim in one of Jake’s bad action movies.

“Now, sit there and be nice and quiet alright?” Murphy whispers, close to his ear. Kevin shudders. “It will make it easier for both sides.”

He doesn’t nod or shake his head, seeing as the knife is still there. He doesn’t say aloud that Murphy probably can’t even kill him with this throat slitting business, doubts that Murphy’s good enough to be able to get to the vulnerable parts of the neck.

To the side the goons are moving again, some getting armed whilst others merely go outside. Only one of them returns with Raymond in tow.

Kevin hates the look Raymond has when his eyes flicker to him, and more specifically to the obvious knife at his throat. “Hello Seamus,” Raymond says slowly. Actually, everything he’s doing right now, moving and talking, is slow. Or perhaps a better word would be cautious. “Kevin.”

“Raymond. I see you came alone. And hopefully unarmed.”

“I am.”

Murphy laughs. “Like hell I’m going to trust that. Brian, pat him down.”

Ah, finally a name to a face. Kevin was getting tired of grouping those four together, at least now he knows who the one that chased after him in the forest is. He watches as Raymond gets patted down, and doesn’t know if he should be disappointed that Raymond doesn’t have any weapons on him at all or hope that he’s that good at concealing firearms.

“What do you want?” Raymond asks.

“I told you. You mess with my family, I mess with yours.” Kevin can’t see it, but he knows Murphy’s having that grin on his face again. “Here’s what's going to happen. You are going to let my boys here tie you down with no resistance, and maybe I will let your husband live.”

You won’t. He knows Murphy won’t, and by the look on Raymond’s face he knows it as well.

“Let him go, Seamus. This is between you and me.”

“Oh babe, you’re the one who crossed that line first.” Murphy presses down, and the blade breaks through skin. Compared to his ankle, it’s nothing.

Though Kevin doubts this is to cause him pain. This theatrical act is for Raymond and Raymond only, and he is merely a means to an end.

“Don’t-”

“Take. A. Seat.” Raymond grits his teeth, but he does follow the direction, sitting back on the uncomfortable wooden chair and letting Brian and the others tie him up. “Good boy. See, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

The blade hasn’t stopped cutting into him, getting deeper every second. He was right: blood is highly uncomfortable and it has already started to stain his collar, making a proper mess as it flows down.

Raymond’s jaw is clenched tight.

“Now that you are nice and secure, I’m going to let you make a choice.” Murphy removes the knife from his neck, cleaning the blade on his shirt as he continues. “We have your husband here, about to die one way or another… And we have your squad out there. Oh, don’t look so surprised, of course I know. Who do you think I am, some amateur? No no, I got eyes everywhere here Raymond. And I also got guns everywhere here.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You haven’t even heard my offer.”

“I don’t need to.”

Kevin has to admit, he doesn’t foresee the knife being jammed down into his shoulder where the blood was just being wiped off seconds before. The ankle had been a sudden burst of pain that Kevin luckily didn’t have to deal with for long before whatever drug they’d used got administered, the throat slitting was uncomfortable at best.

This is so much worse.

“KEVIN!”

“Are you gonna hear me out now, Raymond?”

If Kevin had more awareness of the situation around him, he would have noticed the rushing of footsteps outside.

“Yes! Yes, please, stop.”

He doesn’t, not when everything is ripping and tearing and he’s writhing in his seat, unable to do anything to alleviate it. It isn’t even the rope that’s stopping him, it’s the pain itself that prohibits anything else except being in pain.

“Kevin or your team?”

“Kevin.”

In the midst of it all, there’s another sensation, infinitesimal in the middle of this hell right now.

“No hesitation huh? I can respect that.”

And, just when the pain is at its worst, it dissipates, like fog off some terrible lake, taking what’s left of his consciousness with it. The last thing Kevin remembers through the haze is the sound of gunshots.

* * *

The sixth time, Kevin wakes up numb. A part of him knows it’s because of the drug that, for god knows why and how, has carried over. The rest of him blames it on the fact that he has failed yet again.

How did he make such a stupid mistake?

It doesn’t matter now, the past (not quite the past) is in the past. At least that’s what he’s trying to tell himself, even when Kevin knows that’s a blatant lie.

The past (not quite the past) is everything. And for every time he fails, consequences follow. If it was affecting just him Kevin wouldn’t mind that much, it’s nothing he doesn’t deserve, but Jake is being dragged into this mess in ways he doesn’t understand and that is crossing a line.

Jake’s still sleeping soundly behind him.

Kevin doesn’t expect that to last, but he gets out of the bed slowly and as quietly as possible anyway. It doesn’t hurt to let Jake get another few minutes of sleep, considering the long day ahead.

He goes to the bathroom, out of curiosity. The leftover drug is wearing off now, and he can feel the beginning of an ache creeping up his shoulder and down his leg. It’s not as intense, merely a mild pain that’s not too much that it’s distracting.

There is a mark on his shoulder, cleaner than expected. He could have sworn Murphy had twisted the damn thing once it pierced the skin, or that could have just been his writhing.

The ache gets more pronounced when he moves his arm up too high. It’s not limiting any movement, but Kevin can only count up to 30 or so seconds before his shoulder really complains and he has to drop his arm back down.

His ankle is faring better at least. There’s only a small point for the entry wound, and nothing on the other side. He can still put his weight on it, though Kevin makes a note to favour his right side, just in case.

It wouldn’t do if he couldn’t run, considering the last two loops.

Kevin sighs, turns the tap on and splashes some water on his face. He needs to be better this time, and that means not making any mistakes of the sort. No time wasting action.

“Kevin? Are you there pal?”

No time wasting action when Murphy’s men come that is. Right now though, when they’re still in the middle of the night, Kevin allows himself a few seconds of silence before answering. “Jake. What do you need so urgently that you have to bother me whilst I’m in here?”

“Can’t I just be worried for my best friend?”

“We’re not best friends,” Kevin replies, and doesn’t have it in himself to tag on the other remark. “And why are you up at this time too?”

Jake’s quiet for a minute.

Which means the last loop- oh no.

“Are you planning on going back to bed?” he asks.

Jake’s answer comes faster this time. “Probably not.”

“Why don’t you go downstairs and make yourself comfortable? I will be with you in a few minutes.”

“That sounds good, yeah. Don’t take too long, alright Kev?”

“Again, it will only be a few minutes.” He grabs a pen, moving his sleeve up and marking down another line that goes across the first four. He stares down at it for a moment before adding a question mark at the beginning.

That’s more accurate.

When Kevin swings open the door, Jake’s still there, leaning against the wall opposite to him. Last time he went straight to the kitchen to make coffee, now he looks up at Kevin with a tired smile and a small wave.

“I thought you would be more ecstatic at the chance of choosing and watching another Nicolas Cage movie,” Kevin says. _Why are you still here?_

Jake shrugs. “It’s always me that chooses the movie, so this time I figured I’d let you do it. But since you don’t know how to go through my amazing collection, can’t blame you on that, I will have to actually guide you through it. So you know, instead of going down first I can just wait for you and we can choose one together! You know?”

That answers his question.

“Come along then,” Kevin says, and Jake smiles, bouncing along behind him. “Do you want some coffee?”

“However long we’ve been here together and I’m offended that you even have to ask.”

“I’m making sure.”

“Well, yes. Some coffee would be nice.”

Kevin makes the coffee this time, waiting for the water to heat up as Jake gets the cups. The scent of coffee fills the air as soon as he pours the water in, and beside him Jake relaxes. It would be domestic if this wasn't the safe house that Kevin’s talking about here.

He reaches for the sugar, adds in the same amount Jake did for his cup and slides it over. By the time Kevin’s own cup is ready, Jake has already finished his first and is refilling for the second. Alarming, to say the least.

“Are you doing alright?” he ventures an ask, and Jake freezes up mid-way through his second cup.

He finishes it quickly, slamming the cup down with so much force that Kevin’s surprised it doesn’t break on impact. There’s a trace of coffee on his upper lip. “I am,” Jake lies.

Jake’s eyes are also getting teary.

“Obviously so,” Kevin says, putting his own cup down. “If you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t push. However, I’m here if you want to.”

“I had a dream where, I don’t know, I was, like, tied to a chair? You know one of those "would you rather" games, like you have to choose this and that and it’s always something really hard to choose from? Just pick one, A or B, would you rather watch Con Air or Die Hard for the rest of your life, or would you rather watch Face Off or Die Hard for the rest of your life, or would you rather only eat pancakes with butter and maple syrup but without the pancake part or pizza pockets, or would you rather act along Nic Cage or Bruce Willis, oh! Or would you rather your dad stayed with the family instead of walking out or that happening anyway but you don’t have any abandonment issues whatsoever at all, or would you rather he didn't leave at all! Would you rather not get attached to any authority figure in your life or would you rather be an actual good boyfriend to the only one you have actually gotten this serious with, actually I have a better one, would you rather shoot the one authority figure who actually means something to you beside having a little power over you, someone who genuinely helps you with your career and your life and you don’t even know who you would be today if it weren’t for him or would you rather shoot your fiancée, the one who actually gives a crap about you and loves you and you love her back even though she can’t stand your horrible diet and sleeping schedule and you can’t stand her because she’s such a bore in everything but you also love her so much that for some reason you’re actually loving that boredom and strictness and the binders and everything about her makes your life so much better!”

Jake’s out of breath by the time he’s done, breathing heavily. Not just from the long rant that Kevin barely caught a word of, but also from the tears streaming down his face that he’s desperately wiping away to no avail.

“Jake-”

He takes a shaky step back, away from Kevin. Jake’s hand is holding onto the kitchen counter now, his eyes are moving around wildly, looking anywhere but straight forward.

Jake looks like a terrified animal, cornered and trapped.

Kevin doesn’t hesitate, walking up (ignoring Jake’s flinch) and extending his arms. It’s merely an invitation, one that he doesn’t expect Jake to take but Jake all but collapses into him anyway, the sudden combined weight nearly sending him tumbling down.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-” Jake sobs, and the sound breaks Kevin’s heart. “I didn’t mean to, I swear-”

“Jake,” Kevin repeats his name, smaller this time. “It’s fine. Everything is fine,” he mutters into the crook of Jake’s neck, his hand moving up and threading through the messy curls. They're soft.

It doesn’t stop Jake’s mantra of “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’msorrysorry” and Kevin doesn’t know what else to do but to hold on tighter, saying empty comforting words that he doesn’t even believe himself.

“Calm down, come on. Breathe with me.”

Jake does, stuttered breaths that slowly even out until he’s not hyperventilating against Kevin’s shoulder anymore. The tears have stopped, if only because there are no tears left to cry. His grip on Kevin’s shirt has not relaxed at all though, not that he has any intention of letting Jake go right now.

“I’m sorry,” Jake mutters again. “Didn’t mean to just collapse on you like that- I know you probably shouldn’t be handling too heavy things. Or me. You don’t have to.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Still, I didn’t mean to...you definitely should not have had to go through that whole thing.”

“Stop apologising,” Kevin says simply. “Can you walk?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“A good one. I doubt you could support your own weight right now if I let go.”

Jake hums, looking down. “Stop being right all the time,” he says weakly with a chuckle.

Jake’s laughing again, that is good. He can deal with this. “No,” Kevin says. Jake gives another giggle, though Kevin doubts even Jake himself really knows what he’s laughing about. “Let’s get you seated down somewhere, alright? And I can make you something that is not coffee.”

“What- Keeeevin! Come on!”

“You have had more than enough already.” He gives Jake a stern look. Jake pouts, and with the bloodshot eyes and small traces of tears on his cheeks, it makes a very convincing picture. “Come on, living room. We can play one of your movies, and I will even make us some popcorn.”

“Oh... Well you should have led with that.”

“Of course,” he sighs, shifting his weight and making sure he can support Jake without aggravating his own not-quite-injury. The trip to the living room is short, and with a light push Jake falls on the couch with a small thump, glaring up at Kevin.

“It doesn’t even hurt,” Kevin says, rolling his eyes. “What do you want to watch?”

“Well, I did tell you I would let you choose a movie.”

“If it was up to me we would not be watching anything. So I’ll ask again: What do you want to watch?”

“...The Sorcerer's Apprentice.”

Same choice, Kevin thinks fondly, crouching down at the box and going through the horrible DVDs until he finds the movie. Any fond thoughts die off when he sees Nicolas Cage’s face on the cover staring back at him, and he takes a deep breath.

This is for Jake.

He sets everything up, tossing Jake the remote. The movie plays seconds later, the too familiar opening starting and Kevin sits down next to Jake, making himself comfortable.

“No popcorn?” Jake asks teasingly, leaning onto Kevin’s shoulder again.

“Not when we’re watching this for the fifth time, no.”

“Fourth, unless you have been sneaking off and watching this masterpiece without me,” Jake corrects.

Ah, right. Fifth for Kevin, counting the last loop. Fourth, as far as Jake’s concerned. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“You know you love it.”

“I know that I want to break the tv so we don’t have to watch anything you have brought here ever again.”

Jake doesn’t reply. Kevin looks down to see his attention span has all been directed to the actual movie, his eyes glued to the screen and not having any intention of moving soon.

There’s no reason for him to not settle down too, and so Kevin does, looking at the screen just in time to see Nicolas Cage’s character appearing. The movie’s horrible, he has seen this one too many times, and Jake’s Jake: reciting dialogue, acting out scenes like he has magical powers of his own, bouncing back surprisingly fast from whatever happened in the kitchen.

He didn’t catch a lot of Jake’s sudden, rapid-fire rambling, but the last part had gone on for long enough that he could get a full picture of what had happened.

Kevin forces his attention to focus on the tv before his train of thought takes him to choices that he hopes he will never have to make. There’s not much success in that either, and by the time the credits roll, Kevin knows who he will pick if his hand’s forced.

At least he thinks so.

“Sooooo, are you finally liking this?” Jake asks, stopping another rabbit hole diving session that Kevin’s sure he would have gone down if Jake had been a second later with his question.

“Rewatching something a billion times doesn’t make it magically better, Jake.”

“Damn.”

Kevin shrugs. “No. And the same rule still applies, we are not watching this again for the next three days.”

“That rule is the only reason you are not liking any of my stuff yet, Kevin.”

“That rule is the only reason I still have some of my sanity intact, Jake.” Jake’s shoulders shake with badly contained laughter, and Kevin refuses to comment on his own smile. Instead he reaches for the remote and turns the tv off. “No more Nicolas Cage for the next few hours either.”

“Oh come on! That’s too far now.”

“No.”

Jake blows raspberries at him. “What am I supposed to do then? Cause Kev, I am too hyped up from the coffee which, it was probably a bad idea to drink that much and sleeping was never an option. Nope, none at all.”

“Read a book.”

“You sound like my mom. Which, for once, is not a good thing, because books.”

“That explains so much about you and,” he looks Jake up and down. “Everything else.”

“What is that supposed to mean?!”

“You’re at least smart enough to answer that yourself.” Jake folds his hands and hunches his shoulders, pouting on the couch. “I honestly have no idea what you do to entertain yourself Jake, so don’t look to me for options.”

“I didn’t.”

“You literally asked a few seconds before.” Jake pouts harder. “Chess?”

“I don’t even know how to play chess, Kevin.”

“I can teach you how. It’s not that hard.”

Jake sits up straighter, thank God. He has such horrible posture, honestly. “Well… Maybe.”

Kevin sets up the board, putting the pieces into place. Jake shifts until he’s sitting opposite of Kevin, copying his movements and placing the white side down. And it might just be Kevin’s imagination, but Jake’s picking up on everything faster than the last time.

Actually, considering everything, he might not be imagining it either. And if that’s the case, then Kevin’s glad Jake got something more positive out of this.

“Check,” Jake grins triumphantly, leaning back on the couch.

“Good job,” Kevin compliments, and in a move, takes Jake’s rook and frees his king. “Checkmate.” He reaches over and knocks down Jake’s king with a light push.

“What?! When did you- how did I not see that?” Jake stutters, looking at the board before rearranging the pieces himself. “Rematch! There’s no way I’m not winning at least one game.”

“I can always blindfold myself if that’s what you need to win.”

“One, rude. Two, I’m beating you fair and square and there’s nothing you can do about that,” Jake says, moving his pawn and starting the game. “Three, you’re definitely doing that after I win. I want to see blindfold chess.”

“Of course.”

When Raymond comes, Jake hasn’t won but he has come rather close one or two times. He looks surprised at everything that is happening right now, and Kevin can’t blame him. Seeing Jake concentrated on a game of chess is not a common sight at the precinct, he imagines.

Raymond then starts joining in, as expected, notifying Jake of his mishaps and ruining some of Kevin’s plans. He still has the upper hand, and with a rook getting sacrificed and predictably pulling Jake’s attention to that part of the board, Kevin moves his queen and grins.

“Checkmate.”

“What? No! Oh come on!” Jake throws his hands up, before folding them petulantly. Again. Kevin’s getting used to this pouty side of Jake. “Capt, I thought you were smarter than this.”

“Being on the same team as you would naturally result in some drawbacks. I don’t blame him.”

“Uggggh.” Jake leans back, staring at the ceiling for a moment before he bounces back. “Anyway, sorry about that. Didn’t notice the time, and then poof, here you are. What’s up?”

“There is nothing up, Peralta. I am merely here to check on you two.”

“Awww, you do care.”

Raymond doesn’t reply, merely sitting down and pulling out a bag of oranges. He offers Kevin one.

He takes it, their hands brush. The contact is nice, even if it only lasts for a few seconds. Kevin takes his time peeling the orange, separating it into halves and then one half into quarters.

One half he hands to Jake with a look and a raised eyebrow. “Jake?”

“Oh- sure,” Jake says, taking it with slight hesitation. He separates it into pieces, picking one up and looking at it for a second before biting it in half. It is just horrible at this point, Kevin thinks, looking away and offering Raymond the quarter.

Raymond blinks at him. There's a clear surprise on his face, and again, Kevin can’t blame Raymond for feeling like that. His expression then melts into a soft fondness and Kevin smiles back.

Their hands brush again when Raymond reaches out. “Thank you, Kevin.”

“It’s no problem.”

Kevin eats his own part then, chewing and swallowing in silence with Raymond and Jake. The tangy taste is nice, he has to admit, but eating oranges for a straight six or more days...

Good oranges, nice and dry, Kevin thinks. On cue, Raymond says the words aloud.

“Good oranges, nice and dry. Not at all ripe.”

Jake gives a vague hum that Kevin’s inclined to agree with, wiping away the juice with his hoodie sleeve. How he makes that much of a mess with half an orange is beyond Kevin.

Around this time the small talk would start, when they’ve finished the oranges. He considers asking about Raymond’s day again, getting his hopes up only to hear the same information. Might as well skip it and get straight to the point. “Is there any chance that I could have my phone with me?”

“I have already explained this on the first day. Phones, and by extension, any electrical devices are easily traceable.”

“In case of an emergency, Raymond. There’s no reliable nor viable way of contacting you if something were to happen.”

“If something were to happen,” Raymond echoes his words slowly with a clear tone of disbelief, bordering on a chuckle. Kevin stifles a sigh, or maybe a chuckle. At this point Raymond’s statement is rather funny from his angle. “I would be the first to know. There are cameras monitoring the safe house and at the clearest sign of aggression we will send people down. Your safety is top priority, Kevin.”

“Still,” he says. “I would feel safer knowing I can reach you if worst comes to worst.” Raymond falters at his words, though Kevin knows he won’t get what he wants. “Please?”

“If it helps then I will get you a burner phone tomorrow.”

Some day. “Thank you, dear,” Kevin says, moving his gaze to the window now that that conversation has ended. He knows Murphy’s men won’t be here at this time, but he’s still impatient to see the familiar cars.

Something nags at the back of his brain. Ah. “I love you.”

He doesn’t see Raymond’s expression, but it’s hard to believe it has changed from before.

“I love you too,” Raymond replies slowly. “Kevin, I apologise for how I have been acting regarding the situation. It was, and it is... rather drastic of me.”

“If I were in your situation I would do the same,” Kevin says. “I apologise for how I have been acting these past weeks too.”

“It’s understandable considering the circumstances.”

“So it is.”

The conversation fades into a comfortable silence, now that Kevin’s sure he’s not forgetting to bring up anything.

It honestly is a nice day outside today. Not too sunny and based on the light wind rustling the bushes, perfect for a walk.

He wants to go for a walk.

“I’m sorry to cut this short but unfortunately, it is now time for me to take my leave,” Raymond speaks up at some point, right on time. “Rest assured you will have a line of communication with me by tomorrow noon. Goodbye, Kevin. Peralta.”

“See ya Capt,” Jake cheerfully says. Kevin also doesn’t need to look at Jake to know there’s a grin on his face right now.

“Goodbye Raymond,” Kevin says simply. “Take care.”

The telltale sound of the door clicking open before closing again announces Raymond’s departure, and then it’s just Jake and him alone in the house again. And in a few moments, Jake and him and a movie playing in the background. And in two hours, give or take...

Well, Kevin isn’t exactly looking forward to either of the events.

“Soooooooo, it has been long enough that I can start another movie, right? Please say yes, please say yes,” Jake starts beside him, holding Gone in Sixty Seconds up. Kevin doesn’t even know when Jake moved and grabbed the DVD.

“Yes.”

“That’s- huh. I was expecting more of a struggle, to be honest,” Jake shrugs. “Well, either way, make yourself comfortable, Kev.”

Kevin does, leaning back as Jake starts the movie that he has seen one too many times. But the movie gets Jake in a good mood: his eyes are practically glued to the screen and his grin gets wider every time Nicolas Cage is on screen, which is most of the time.

“Randall Raines ... It's been a long time ...'though I do I recall you as a man with style. You remember your old friend, Atley?” Jake echoes along with the actor on screen.

He’s definitely remembering the dialogue now. One of the worst things to have happened, and he is in a loop where death just keeps happening despite how much he wants to stop it.

“Excuse me one moment, Randall.”

There’s a view of a bloody windshield here, and a quick glance back at the screen confirms his memory. Kevin looks out again.

“You bring this to me in this condition? Blood and guts all over it? You make me complicit? On my property? Who taught you how to think? And worst of all: weren't there supposed to be two Hondas?”

Those three cars pull up, with the same brand and colour that Kevin’s starting to hate too.

“No, no. You don't kill me, because you can't. You don't take your brother and run, because we'd find him. You don't go to the police, because we have friends there, too. You do nothing: except deal with me,” the character continues, Jake continues.

Kevin taps on Jake’s shoulder, catching his attention and getting straight to the point. “We’re being watched.”

“Excuse me what now?”

“Don’t be obvious,” Kevin says, waiting for Jake to nod before continuing. “There are three cars outside, opposite to that window. They have been in the same spot at the same time for the past week, just parked there and done nothing.”

“Oh,” Jake whispers. “Are you sure? It could be the neighbours, for all we know.”

“They are armed.”

Jake curses softly, looking away from the window. “That’s not good. What should we do? Raymond’s not checking the camera right now so there’s no way we can notify him. Damn, maybe you were onto something with the burner phone idea.”

“Jake.”

“Sorry. Do you think they will do something?”

“Yes,” Kevin answers. “Which is why I’m notifying you about this. Don’t get into view.”

“I’m not that dumb,” Jake mutters. “Anyway, we need to think of a plan or something right about now, you know? Bad guys are literally at our door kinda situation. Do you think pretending that nobody’s home will work? Oh, don’t give me that look, it happened before and it worked, thank you very much.”

Kevin rolls his eyes. “They will storm through the door at some point,” he says. “Might try knocking at first, fooling us into letting them in freely, or they might shoot the lock.”

“We’re so fucked then,” Jake says. “Do you think all of them are gonna come in together?”

“They know there has to be someone else staying with me, a police officer, so chances are yes. Three cars, so at least three people, maybe more.”

“Those are not very good odds.”

Kevin shakes his head. “No, which is why we should try to avoid that situation. Wait for them to move to the front door then get out while we can through other ways. The cars would be left empty then.”

It doesn’t take much for Jake to catch on, and once he does he gasps. “Oh my god you’re actually suggesting we steal a car. Gone in sixty seconds!”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Jake grins. “Ok, how are we getting out if they are at the front door? Cause as much as I love you Kev, I am not sprinting past at least three maniacs with guns.”

“The window in the room back there can be climbed out of,” he explains quickly. “Grab your gun before we go, and hope for the best.”

“Done and deal,” Jake says. “You watch the movie, I can keep an eye out for any movement.”

“No thanks.”

The movie plays in the background anyway, and every now and then Kevin can hear the loud explosions and sound effects from the tv that get louder and louder before fading out as the last scene plays.

Ten minutes later Jake nudges him. “You’re right, those guys are armed. And moving. Ok, let’s prepare to wrap this party up and let’s roll!”

Jake gets the gun with an elaborate roll.

Someone’s knocking on the door.

Kevin grabs Jake’s arm and drags him to the window. He crouches down the moment his feet touch the grass outside and moments later Jake lands next to him, nodding at him and bringing a finger up to his lips.

Stay quiet, obviously.

This time Kevin doesn’t wait, just moves as quickly as he can. The front door should slam right about now, but he doesn’t pay any mind to that or the sound of people storming in or the voices in the house.

Jake’s still moving and Kevin follows until they’re at the front of the house. He doesn’t stop when Jake gives him the sign to, tagging along to Jake’s chosen car. In a swift movement he takes Jake’s gun out of his hand, ignoring Jake’s yelp and taking aim.

Murphy’s men must have heard the noises at this point. The sheer volume from two shots in quick succession is enough to notify the whole neighbourhood of their location, not that Kevin cares at this point.

There’s that sign of oil leakage. If he’s lucky two of them won’t notice anything until it’s too late, taking themselves out of the chase at that point.

“Get in!” In the meantime Jake has gotten seated, the car ready to go and Kevin yanks open the door on his side and clambers in too. Jake slams on the pedals, and the sudden shift of speed pushes him back on his seat as they ride away from the house. “Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. Kevin what the fuck did you just do?”

He reaches for his seatbelt, pauses and lets his hand drop back to his side. It won’t matter, not when he will have to take the wheel sooner or later. “I eliminated a car from this chase. It won’t be in any working order for much longer.”

“Oh,” Jake says. “Well, warn a guy next time. And don’t just take a gun from me like that. It’s dangerous.”

“We are in a literal car chase.”

“And I don't trust you with a gun at all, no offense. Just, you know, civilians and all.”

Kevin bites back a response. Instead he glances at the mirror, and grimaces. “We have company. Getting closer, and they’re pulling out firearms.”

“Fuck. Gimme my gun back, then take the wheel.” He follows Jake’s order, watching as Jake rolls down the window on his side and doesn’t bother asking for the plan when he already knows what will happen. “Keep us going, yeah Kev?”

“Get shooting.”

“Roger that, prof.”

There’s the wrong designation. Now is not the time to elaborate on that point though, and he focuses his attention on steering the vehicle. His shoulder protests from the angle, and Kevin grits his teeth, forcing the ache to go away.

Bullets, firing at them. The mirror on his side cracks, and then the one on Jake’s side. The back of the car must be taking a lot of damage too, and he hopes the rear window will hold out for longer this time.

“Fuck that was close,” Jake mutters, ducking back in and reloading. “Kevin, you doing ok there?”

His shoulder flares up at Jake’s question, and Kevin shakes his head. “The sooner you end this, the better,” he says, gripping the wheel tighter, forcing the position. “Do be careful though.”

“When am I not?” Jake says. “Also, new plan. Turn left when I tell you to, and don’t stop.” There it is. Before Kevin can reply, Jake’s leaning out again, gun ready to fire. “Yippee-Ki-Yay, Motherfucker. Now Kevin.”

He yanks on the wheel until it clunks to a stop, unable to turn any further. Jake must have slammed on the break at that moment too as the car drifts around, the momentum pushing him to the side and straining his grip on the wheel.

Don’t let go don’t let go keep them on track-

They’re about to crash, a part of Kevin observes. He tries to turn the car just a few meters to the left, anything but a head on collision at this speed.

Anything but-

Kevin feels the force pushing him up and over, feels the impact of the windshield, the glass cracking and shattering into connected bits that bend and break and he feels the obliterating pain but he doesn’t-

He knows what he should be feeling. He doesn’t.

He hears something loud, maybe screaming, maybe someone here to help. Noises circulate in the background, but nothing’s clear.

And then silence.

* * *

The seventh time, Kevin jerks awake.

He’s back at the safe house, it’s dark around him, and everything hurts. His head, his neck, his shoulders. Contrasting that, everything below his chest is numb, not quite responding to his attempt at moving. 

The car crash, Kevin reminds himself. The car crash that he caused simply because he couldn’t control the actual car itself. 

His fault.

It’s his fault.

His fault that now Jake will have another memory of a car crash that he does not deserve to have.

Jake.

Kevin sits up slowly, noting how some of his movement control is returning as the seconds pass. The room is still dark, and he gives himself a second to adjust to the light setting. 

The room is still dark.

No, it’s not. The edges of his vision say it’s not, catching sight of the natural light that’s vaguely shining through the blinds and the red light of the alarm clock. 

Yet when he focuses his sight forward, it’s dark. No, it’s not even dark, it’s static, bad noise that shifts and changes but it’s also contained in a vague shape of a circle in the centre of his vision. 

He moves his eyes around the room, and the circle follows, always in the centre. Sometimes the noises are even around the edges, pronounced and there. The darkness doesn’t help, and Kevin’s left with himself sitting there, knowing something is wrong with his vision and knowing there’s nothing that he can do about it.

Nothing besides dealing with it as best as he can. 

He looks over to Jake, seeing that damn static circle that takes up most of Jake’s face and sighs. Kevin can still vaguely tell where Jake is, but any expression that he’s having right now is lost to the static. He moves his eyes, looking slightly below and to the left.

As usual, he’s still sleeping. Every now and then he shifts positions, not quite being able to settle down properly. Jake will wake up soon, Kevin knows, and he wonders what Jake's dream is this time. 

Well, he still has a few minutes before the day starts. Some feeling has returned to his legs, and Kevin stands up slowly, navigating his way to the bathroom. The static poses a challenge, but practiced movement and muscle memory trumps in the end and he manages to lock the door behind him, turning on the light.

The brightness helps so much.

The static circle is clearer now, indeed taking up most of his vision. It gets worse closer to the middle, nearly opaque in the center. He can vaguely tell there’s something behind it right now with the bright light of the bathroom, but Kevin doubts that’s an option any place darker. 

Even his peripheral vision has that same static, not as drastic but it’s there.

Kevin doesn’t bother looking at the mirror this time, even when he’s curious about what his eyes actually look like, or any other marks that have traveled over from the car crash. He just opens the cabinet, getting the aspirin and taking one dry.

After that comes the marking, making it 6 lines on his forearm. 

And now Kevin waits, in this muted silence that’s neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. Jake should be here around now, even when Kevin wishes that he could actually get a good night's sleep, that both of them could get a good night's sleep actually. Out of all the possible times, it’s around 3 in the morning that he got thrown back here.

Kevin taps his foot, getting used to controlling it again. A tempo fills in the silence.

Tap. Tap. Tap tap. Tap.

Tap. Tap. Tap tap. Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap tap. 

Tap.

Knock knock. There he is.

“Kevin?” Jake calls. “Are you there pal?”

He never thought he would be this glad to hear Jake’s voice, in all honesty. “Yes Jake, I am here. What do you want?” 

“Just wondering. You weren’t there when I woke up, and I got a bit worried that you had just wandered off doing who knows what.”

“That sounds like something you would be more likely to do.”

“Not wrong. Still, you doing good?”

No, Kevin thinks to himself. He’s doing anything but good right now, but Jake doesn’t have to know it. Jake already has the vague memory of his death, Kevin doesn’t need to add more to the mess. “Yes. And how about you?”

“Huh?”

“You, for some reason, woke up at this time and decided that your next course of action should be to get up and find me despite knowing I will still be in the safe house instead of rolling back to sleep.”

“Damn, that’s good,” Jake says after a pause. “My amazing detective skills must be rubbing off on you, title of our sextape.”

“Please don’t ever say that ever again in my presence.”

He can hear Jake’s laughter through the door. It’s not a light sound. “No promises.”

“You’re dodging the question.”

“Damn, the sequel. You are good at this.”

Kevin shrugs, before realising Jake can’t actually see that right now. He walks to the door, unlocking and nudging it open. 

Jake’s leaning on the wall, hands in his hoodie pocket. The light pours from the bathroom, illuminating enough of the corridor and enough of Jake that Kevin can actually see where he is. Further details though, facial expressions and so on, are lost to the static and Kevin sighs. 

He knows he will have to deal with this, he has no other choice than to deal with this, but it doesn’t make this any less troublesome. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Kevin asks, straight to the point. There are only a few steps between them and Kevin quickly closes the distance, looking slightly below to see the frozen smile on Jake’s face.

“I-”

He takes Jake’s hand, pulling him along. “Come on. We can watch one of your movies if it will make you feel better.”

“That sounds good,” Jake says.

“Of course it does.”

“Rude.”

He fumbles with the staircase, holding onto the handrail tighter than necessary. Jake doesn’t comment on any of his missteps, though Kevin thinks it’s only because he’s too caught up with his own thoughts right now to notice.

“Here, lemme.” Jake reaches over, flipping on the switch and the light turns on. “Better?”

Oh, or he does notice. Kevin smiles despite himself, nodding slightly. “Better. Thank you.”

“No prob.”

“It’s problem, Jake. You don’t have to shorten a two-syllable word.”

“On the contrary, I do.” 

Kevin never thought he would find people basically butchering English to be amusing, but here he is, hiding a chuckle at Jake’s antics. “Sit down,” he says, giving a light push and Jake collapses on the couch ungracefully so. “What do you want to watch?”

“Anything will do. I just wanna have my daily dose of Nic Cage, you know?”

“I wish I didn’t, but unfortunately I have known you for long enough to answer yes to that question. You get irritated if you don’t see his face in a 48 hours period.”

“No I do not,” Jake protests weakly.

“The first week in this safe house would like to politely disagree with you,” Kevin says, crouching down next to the box and searching for a movie. He flips through the choices, Face Off and Con Air and Ghost Rider before pausing at a name. 

We haven’t even watched Captain Corelli's Mandolin yet. You would love it, even if it’s super boring.

He pushes that one back into the pile, and picks up The Wicker Man instead. Jake cheers, and Kevin puts it on before settling down next to Jake.

He doesn’t pay any attention to the movie as it plays, in part because it’s a movie he has seen too many times, in part because this time he can barely see the movie. Time flies, the credits roll and he belatedly realises that the past hour or so has had a distinct lack of Jake’s usual Nicolas Cage movie related antics. 

Kevin looks over to see Jake sleeping on the couch, his head leaning back at an awkward angle that will surely cause a crick when he wakes up.

He gets up, carefully moves Jake until he’s lying comfortably on the couch. He immediately curls into himself, shivering slightly, and Kevin stifles a sigh at the prospect of walking up and down the stairs and not actually knowing where you’re stepping. 

It’s harder even when it shouldn’t be. He doesn’t usually look at the steps when he uses the stairs, but now when he notices that fact it’s hard to forget it again. Carrying the blanket down makes it all the more worse.

Jake better appreciate this.

He drapes the blanket over Jake, making sure he’s properly covered. This close to Jake, Kevin can actually see the relaxed expression on his face that makes him look younger. 

Too young to die.

There’s no guarantee that it will loop back. The last loop could have been, well, the last loop. They might have died in the car crash, or Jake might have survived with all the injuries and lived on. 

Kevin might have been responsible for all that.

Who is he kidding? There is no might, he is directly responsible for this.

He crashed the car.

He pressed the trigger instead of just lining up the shot.

Kevin stumbles away from the sleeping figure of Jake. He finally has the chance to get some sleep, it wouldn’t do if Kevin woke him up again with his useless misplaced guilt and another crying episode.

He has already cried plenty for his mistakes. He doesn’t need another wasted hour. What he needs is some results, not just vague points that barely resemble a plan.

He is lucky to have the chance to do this again, to get it right, and Kevin has never been one to waste chances.

He has to get it right.

By the time Jake stirs awake, Kevin has nothing. No, he has pages after pages of scrawled out speculations and pointers that pose no use and an endless amount of frustration. At himself, at the situation, at Murphy. At everything.

“Kev?” Kevin jumps, quickly pausing his writing to turn and look at Jake. His hair is a mess, but he looks well rested. Which is good.

“I see you finally decided to wake up,” Kevin says. 

Jake blinks, a hand coming up and wiping the sleep out of his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, yawning right after. “You should have woken me up.”

“You need sleep, Jake.”

“Still, didn’t mean to just leave you there. I wouldn’t have minded, you know, if you'd have slapped me awake or something. Though it seems like you have been busy.” 

Kevin gathers up the stack of papers, cleaning up somewhat and making sure there isn’t a stray paper that Jake can pick up and read. “That I have. How was your sleep?”

“Good, good,” Jake answers. “Aww, this blanket definitely wasn’t here when I went to bed.”

“Brilliant observation skills.”

“Says you.”

“Yes.”

“...Thank you.”

It’s hard to tell if Jake’s thanking him for the blanket or the sarcastic compliment. Still, Kevin shrugs. “It’s nothing. You’re bringing that up though.”

“Fair.”

He takes advantage of the small time frame when Jake gathers the blanket, rushing upstairs, his footsteps thumping through the house to throw the papers into an unused drawer. The living room is back to its clean state from before, and he sits back on the couch, cracking his neck.

Having to be so close to the papers to actually read and write anything is horrible for his posture.

The stairs groan and creak, and Kevin looks over to see Jake again. Water drips down from his hair and face, some wetting the front of his shirt. He’s more awake, and definitely more energetic, not quite walking as he’s skipping and bouncing back to Kevin. “Hey!”

How is this Jake worse than Jake with two cups of coffee in his system? “Good morning, Jake.”

“Jesus, you deffo did not sleep at all huh?” Jake says, leaning down to look at him. “You look awful, Kevin.”

“Your bedside manners leave much to be desired,” Kevin replies, pushing Jake’s face away from his personal space. 

“Just woke up. Brain mouth filter doesn’t work right now.”

“I’m surprised you even have one.”

“Now whose bedside manners are whatever it is you said?” Kevin sighs. Jake chuckles, sitting back down next to Kevin and leaning his head on his shoulder. “So, any plans for today?”

“You’re genuinely asking that.”

“Well, yeah. You know, like how last week you tried to teach me French or whatever? And before that we had another Nic Cage marathon. Or yesterday when we played chess! That was fun, don’t tell Amy I said that though.”

Kevin pauses. “I’m sorry, we did what yesterday?”

“Chess? You’re the one that taught me how to play, you can’t just turn around and say that you don’t remember anything!”

For Kevin, sure. For his not-quite-yesterday and his not-quite-the-day-before they played chess. But for Jake’s yesterday, Jake’s Saturday the 17th, Kevin can barely remember them doing anything together.

He can feel a headache approaching. “Right, of course,” Kevin mutters. “I’m sorry, it’s just that your playing skills are not something I would like to remember.”

“Oh come on! I almost beat you, twice!”

“I was playing it easy on you.”

“We’ll see about that,” Jake grumbles, standing up and returning with the set. “I’m not stopping until I win, you know?”

Kevin tries not to think too hard on this. He already knew things traveled through, but for it to be so livid that Jake thinks it actually happened yesterday? That’s new. “You can go first.”

“You’ll regret that choice,” Jake says.

When Raymond comes, Kevin certainly hasn’t regretted his choice. Like the last two days, Raymond looks surprised but in the end joins forces with Jake, this time making it a close tie. Kevin knows he should have lost during the endgame, but Jake didn’t notice his mishap and Raymond had sent him a smirk and hadn’t notified Jake of it at all.

He smiles back at Raymond. “Good game, you two,” Kevin says, putting the pieces away and clearing out some space. “No Jake, I’m not abbreviating such a short phrase, so don’t even ask.”

“I wasn’t- Well, ok fine, but still,” Jake giggles. “GG to you too. Which, hello Capt. You’re here early.”

“I’m not. I have arrived at exactly 12:30, as planned.”

“Oh. Well, time doesn’t matter anyway. Not in the safe house at least,” Jake throws him a lopsided grin that lacks the usual charm. “Anyway, what’s up with you?”

“There is nothing up, Peralta. I am merely here to check on you two.”

“Awww, you do care.”

Raymond doesn’t reply, merely sitting down and pulling out a bag of oranges. He offers Kevin one.

He accepts the offer, taking it and brushing Raymond’s hand in the process. Kevin takes his time peeling the orange, separating it into halves and then one half into quarters.

One half he hands Jake with a look and a raised eyebrow. “Jake?”

“Alright,” Jake says, taking it with slight hesitation. Even without looking, Kevin knows Jake’s separating it into pieces before biting them in half.

Kevin ignores the scene, instead offering Raymond the quarter. He can imagine the surprise-turned-to-fondness expression on Raymond’s face though it doesn’t mean that it’s any less frustrating not being able to see it. “Thank you, Kevin.”

“It’s no problem.”

Kevin eats his own part then, trying not to grimace so much at the taste that has turned bland after the consecutive seven days of eating oranges. If, no, When he somehow gets out, Kevin’s not touching any oranges for a while.

“Good oranges, nice and dry. Not at all ripe,” Raymond says.

Jake gives a vague hum, wiping away the juice with his hoodie sleeve. How he makes that much of a mess with half an orange that is dry is beyond Kevin.

All that aside, he has better things to be worried about than that. Kevin doesn’t dally around this time, getting straight to the point. “Is there any chance that I can have my phone with me?”

Raymond sighs. He looks like he has been anticipating this question for a while now. “I have already explained this on the first day. Phones, and by extension, any electrical devices are easily traceable.”

“In case of an emergency, Raymond. There’s no reliable nor viable way of contacting you if something were to happen.”

“If something were to happen,” Raymond echoes his words slowly with a clear tone of disbelief, bordering on a chuckle. Kevin wants to laugh at the irony. “I would be the first to know. There are cameras monitoring the safe house and at the clearest sign of aggression we will send people down. Your safety is top priority, Kevin.”

“Still,” he continues. “I would feel safer knowing I can reach you if worst comes to worst. Please?”

Raymond falters, then sighs. “If it helps then I will get you a burner phone tomorrow.” 

“Thank you, dear,” Kevin says, letting himself lean back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. Against the white background the static really does stand out.

He’s forgetting something.

Ah. “I love you.”

He doesn’t see Raymond’s expression, but it’s hard to believe he would react any differently from the last three times.

“I love you too,” Raymond replies slowly. “Kevin, I apologise for how I have been acting regarding the situation. It was, and it is... rather drastic of me.”

“It’s fine,” Kevin says. “I apologise for how I have been acting these past weeks too.”

“It’s understandable considering the circumstances.”

“So it is.”

And the conversation ends, just as Kevin remembers. Raymond should be leaving soon, not that Kevin wants him to. But at the same time, Raymond being here would increase the odds of him getting injured or worse, and balancing the survival act with Jake is hard enough as it is.

Also Raymond has his meetings. Ideally Kevin wouldn’t mind interrupting him when his and Jake’s lives are on the line, but right now they are still safe. They will be safe until Murphy’s men come, guns blazing.

“I’m sorry to cut this short but unfortunately, it is now time for me to take my leave,” Raymond speaks up at some point. He isn’t looking at the clock either, but Kevin imagines it to be exactly on time. “Rest assured you will have a line of communication with me by tomorrow noon. Goodbye, Kevin. Peralta.”

“See ya Capt.”

“Goodbye Raymond. Take care.”

The telltale sound of the door clicking open before closing again announces Raymond’s departure, and then it’s just Jake and him. Jake doesn’t miss a beat, already crawling to the box and ruffling through the choices.

“Soooooooo, it has been long enough that I can start another movie, right? Please say yes, please say yes,” Jake says, holding Gone in Sixty Seconds up. “Please please please-”

“Let's just get it over with.”

“That’s- huh. I was expecting more of a struggle, to be honest. A little lacking in excitement, gotta say,” Jake shrugs. “Well, either way, make yourself comfortable, Kev.”

Kevin does, leaning back as Jake starts the movie that he has seen one too many times. But the movie gets Jake in a good mood: his eyes are practically glued to the screen and his grin gets wider every time Nicolas Cage is on screen, which is most of the time.

Randall Raines ... It's been a long time ...'though I do I recall you as a man with style.

“Randall Raines ... It's been a long time ...'though I do I recall you as a man with style." Jake echoes along with the actor on screen. “You remember your old friend, Atley?”

God, he actually knows the exact beat of dialogue now.

“Excuse me one moment, Randall.”

There’s a view of a bloody windshield here. It’s not like Kevin can actually see it, or most of the screen, but he knows it’s there. He hates that he knows it’s there.

What has Jake done to him?

“You bring this to me in this condition? Blood and guts all over it? You make me complicit? On my property? Who taught you how to think? And worst of all: weren't there supposed to be two Hondas?”

Well, nothing as horrible as Brian and his gang (were, had) are about to do to both of them. He catches the three cars from the corner of his eye, and Kevin sits up straighter.

“No, no. You don't kill me, because you can't. You don't take your brother and run, because we'd find him. You don't go to the police, because we have friends there, too. You do nothing: except deal with me,” the character continues, Jake continues.

Kevin taps on Jake’s shoulder, catching his attention. “We’re being watched.”

“Excuse me what now?”

“Don’t be obvious,” Kevin says, waiting for Jake to nod before continuing. “There are three cars outside, opposite to that window. They have been in the same spot at the same time for the past week, just parked there and done nothing.”

“Oh,” Jake whispers. “Are you sure? It could be the neighbours, for all we know.”

“They are armed.”

“That’s not good,” Jake says, looking from the window to where one of the cameras is situated. “What should we do? Raymond’s not checking the camera right now so there’s no way we can notify him. Damn, maybe you were onto something with the burner phone idea.”

“Focus.”

“Sorry. Do you think they will do something?”

“Yes,” Kevin answers. “Which is why I’m notifying you about this. Don’t get into view.”

“I’m not that dumb,” Jake mutters. “Anyway, we need to think of a plan or something right about now, you know? Bad guys are literally at our door kinda situation. Do you think pretending that nobody’s home will work? Oh, don’t give me that look, it happened before and it worked, thank you very much.”

“They will storm through the door at some point,” Kevin says. “Might try knocking at first, fooling us into letting them in freely, or they might shoot the lock.”

“We’re so fucked then,” Jake says. “Do you think all of them are gonna come in together?”

“They know there has to be someone else staying with me, a police officer, so chances are yes. Three cars, so at least three people, maybe more.”

“Those are not very good odds.”

Kevin shakes his head. “No, which is why we should try to avoid that situation. Wait for them to move to the front door then get out while we can through other ways. The cars would be left empty then.”

It doesn’t take much for Jake to catch on, and once he does he gasps. “Oh my god you’re actually suggesting we steal a car. Gone in sixty seconds!”

“...Basically, yes.”

“Oh my god this is the greatest day of my life. Well, no since there's a very real threat that we’re going to die no big deal but still,” Jake grins. “Ok, how are we getting out if they are at the front door? Cause as much as I love you Kev, I am not sprinting past at least three maniacs with guns.”

“The window in the room back there can be climbed out of,” he explains quickly. “Grab your gun before we go, and hope for the best.”

“Done and deal,” Jake says. “You watch the movie, I can keep an eye out for any movement.”

“No thanks.”

The movie plays in the background anyway, and every now and then Kevin can hear the loud explosions and sound effects from the tv that get louder and louder before fading out as the last scene plays.

Ten minutes later Jake nudges him. “You’re right, those guys are armed. And moving. Ok, let’s prepare to wrap this party up and let’s roll!”

Kevin grabs Jake’s arm and drags him to the window. He crouches down the moment his feet touch the grass outside and moments later Jake lands next to him, bringing a finger up to his lips. 

Kevin nods. They start moving, and he ignores the ruckus that’s happening inside the house. This is no time to worry about that. They’re at the front of the house in no time. 

He doesn’t stop when Jake gives him the sign to, tagging along to Jake’s chosen car. 

In a swift movement, Kevin takes Jake’s gun out of his hand and takes aim.

He doesn’t stop at one car, moving on quickly once the sign of oil spillage happens. It’s harder to aim at the exact part for the second one without moving too far away from Jake and risking getting drugged, but the least he can do is try.

“Kevin, get in!”

“Don’t go just yet,” Kevin says, getting seated on his side. “And move your head down. No, lower.”

Jake does just in time for the front door to open, giving him a clear view through the broken window. Kevin takes the shot. 

“Kevin?”

“Go.”

Jake does, pressing on the pedal and they speed off and away. The safe house fades away in the distance, and Kevin counts the seconds, forcing his breathing to slow down. 

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. Kevin what the fuck did you just do?”

He reaches for his seatbelt, making sure he’s strapped in before answering, “I eliminated at least a car and with luck, a person from this chase.”

“Oh,” Jake says. “Well, warn a guy next time. And don’t just take a gun from me like that. It’s dangerous.”

“We are in a literal car chase.”

“And I don't trust you with a gun at all, no offense. Just, you know, civilians and all.”

“We have company. Getting closer, and they’re pulling out firearms.” Kevin hands Jake the gun, reaching for the wheel before Jake has the chance to say anything. “Get shooting.”

“God you’re just full of amazing ideas today,” Jake says. “Whenever you need to switch just say so, alright?”

He doesn’t have the chance to question Jake about the statement before he has already leaned out, aiming. Kevin shifts his eyes to the road then, pauses, and right. He doesn’t actually need to ask questions when it’s clear that most of the road is behind the static.

He can still see some shapes, and his peripheral vision is still working, but in the center where a whole car could be hidden without him knowing… 

Jake’s a good detective, Kevin thinks. And speaking of, Jake dodges in again, swearing softly under his breath before turning to him. “How you holding up?”

“I’m fine.”

“Vision problem doesn’t bother you?”

“I’m fine,” he repeats himself. “How is everything on your end?”

“Well, the good news is there is only one car. The bad news is there are a hell of a lot of people and guns in that car,” Jake answers. “I’m waiting until the bullets cool down a bit, or at least until they have to reload.”

“I see. Well, be careful.”

“That’s asking a lot from someone who’s about to lean out there again.”

“Smartass,” Kevin mutters. “Give me the gun. Your control over this car is much better than mine right now, and I’m sure I can score a lucky shot or two.”

Jake gives him a look, seemingly thinking over the options before shrugging. “Here. And don’t tell Capt I let you do this, he will have my ass if he finds out that I put you that close to danger.”

The optimism from Jake is, for what it’s worth, almost nice. “I’m putting myself there,” Kevin says. “Take the wheel.”

“Roger that prof.”

Kevin doesn’t reply to the misdesignation, adjusting his grip on the gun. He has seen Jake do this too many times now, leaning out with his head high and ready to face the rain of bullets. Now though, when he’s in Jake’s position, moving is suddenly harder.

This is ridiculous. He has died before, and so what if there’s no loop after this. At least Kevin can buy Jake a better chance of getting out of this.

He leans out, letting himself enjoy the wind blowing at his hair for one moment before raising his gun and hoping he’s aiming where he needs to.

Trying to hit the car when you’re not quite able to line up the sight and picture is not an ideal situation. 

His eyes shift back and forth, moving the static circle around so he can at least see the car.

Their windshield spider-cracks, so whatever aim he had just then was good. Kevin presses the trigger again and again. There are still bullets firing at the car, at him, and it might just be his imagination but it seems like the rate of bullets is genuinely lowering. It’s definitely not as drastic as it was when Jake was out.

They don’t want to kill him outright, Kevin realises. And he grins then, taking aim with a sudden newfound confidence, and fires. Half, maybe two-thirds of his shots probably miss, not that he has any way to confirm that, but it’s better than nothing.

Of course, nothing good lasts forever. It takes him a second to notice the wet trail left behind them by their car, and Kevin only catches that when he has to look down to actually see where the other car is again.

He swears, getting back in the car and right on cue the dashboard blinks wildly in the corner of his vision. 

“Kevin?”

“The car might be stopping any moment now,” Kevin cuts in quickly. “We don’t have long, maybe a minute or two more.”

Jake’s mouth snaps closed with a click, then it opens before closing again. “What?” 

“The car might be stopping any moment now. We need a new plan.” 

“Cool cool cool cool- well actually, not cool at all,” Jake swears then swears again, cursed words getting more creative as the seconds pass. “Kevin, what?!”

“A bullet scraped the bottom of the car,” he explains quickly. “The oil’s leaking and the car is not going to last. Shift to the clutch pedal please.”

“Fuck.” Jake follows his words. “Should we book it? Sitting inside and waiting for them to just come by to drag us out won’t do anything.”

The car is slowing down, gradually so.

The rain of bullets shows no signs of stopping any time soon. 

There are trees around them. Kevin decides that he hates the sight of forests from now on.

“Book it.”

Jake nods. “Alright then. Split up or nah? You can take left, I’ll go right. It would divide them up. I can buy you some time.”

Splitting up means risking the chance of Jake getting killed and suffering a slow death again. 

“No,” Kevin answers too quickly. “Even with your strategy I doubt that I can outrun one of them, much less more and you don’t have good odds of getting out either.”

“Well, what else do you suggest?”

“I-” Kevin trails off. “They want me alive. You don’t matter to them.”

“We’re about to die and still zero compliments from you.”

“I can draw them away, giving you the chance to get their car and speed to the precinct. Get some help.”

“Nope! Out of the question. I’m not letting you do that.”

“If you have a better plan then I’m all in.”

Jake groans, a hand coming up and messing through his hair. “It doesn’t- I’m not letting you walk into Murphy’s hands like that.”

The car is almost at a standstill at this point, and Kevin imagines the other car will be stopping behind them at a distance soon enough too. He relaxes his grip on the gun. “I’m not letting you get killed,” Kevin says. “Wait, I will try to see if I can get all of them away from here. I can’t buy a lot of time, so use it wisely.”

Jake lets his hands drop from the wheel to his side. He leans back on the seat, sighing. “Fine,” Jake mutters. Kevin pretends not to hear the shakiness in Jake’s voice. “Hey, Memphis? I'll see you, right?”

Kevin chuckles, reaches over and ruffles Jake's hair. His hand trails down, wiping the tears away from Jake’s cheek before drawing back. “You'll see me... Gone in sixty seconds.”

The car stops.

He swings open the door, getting out. There are three of them standing there, guns pointed at the car and Kevin grimaces.

Still, he walks forward, stopping when the guns are all focused on him instead.

“Well fucking well, took you long enough,” Brian says. “And where’s the detective?”

“You don’t need him,” Kevin says with as much confidence as he has, stepping forward slowly. “Also would you really risk more injuries for a pawn? Last time I checked there were four of you.”

“We only need to collect the husband,” one of them speaks up. “And well, the boss is already mad that they killed Trevor.” 

That’s who he successfully shot then.

Kevin lets them talk, slowly approaching until Brian turns back and finally notices. The gun that was lowering in the middle of the talk straightens up and points at him again. “Your guy is right, you know? I heard finding a replacement is a lot of paperwork,” he says, not stopping his pace.

The gun is getting closer now, and Kevin stops when there’s barely a gap between him and the muzzle.

This close he can see more details, and right now, Brian hesitates. “No funny business and we’ll let the cop go.”

“Deal,” Kevin smiles, moving his hand and revealing the gun behind his back. 

Brian’s eyes zero in on it, following it as he lets the gun drop from his grip onto the ground. And that moment is all Kevin needs to spring into action, grabbing and twisting the gun until the barrel is pointing away while the other keeps a sloth grip on the wrist. 

Brian screams from his broken trigger finger, then screams no more when Kevin takes the shot that’s impossible to miss at such a close distance.

His ears ring, and when Kevin looks up the other two are aiming at him but they’re looking at the corpse on the ground.

Good.

He moves backward, firing another shot. The scream is barely discernible over the persistent ringing, but that’s all that’s needed to knock the other two out of their momentary stun. 

Kevin takes off running into the forest, as fast as he can. Behind him footsteps follow, punctuated by the crushing of leaves and twigs under the weight. 

He just needs to buy time for Jake to get out. He can do that.

Keep running.

A shot rings out, and Kevin knows the trees won’t keep him protected forever. At this point it’s merely not shoot to kill, but he knows everything else is fair game. 

Jake must have gotten into their car at this point. 

Keep running.

The sounds are getting closer, and from what he can hear, there is only one of them after him. Kevin hopes Jake doesn’t run into much trouble with the other guy. He hopes he hit somewhere vital.

Brian’s gun is in his hand, useless right now unless he manages to get into close enough distance to properly aim and fire. And this time he doubts they would let him get as near as he needs.

Another shot rings out. Some birds fly off in the distance. 

Kevin makes a turn, running the opposite way. The moment he spots his chaser through the trees, he doubles over again, changing direction and repeating, trying to close the distance.

Eventually it’s close enough, and he presses the trigger. It takes three more shots for one bullet to hit, the screaming and collapsing happening a fraction of a second later. Kevin gets closer, firing a fourth shot just to make sure before turning on his heels and rushing back to the road.

Ideally he would return to see a broken down car and two bodies.

Kevin slows down once he sees the road, running turning into a light jog. Closer, he can see the other car still there, and he frowns. 

That’s not good. He raises his gun, slowly approaching the scene. 

Two cars and three bodies. One is Brian, still in the original spot where Kevin had shot him. One is the other goon, considerably bloodier than what one single bullet can cause. 

One is Jake, sitting on the ground, leaning on the car.

Kevin rushes over, doesn’t stop at the blood that’s seeping through Jake’s shirt and hoodie. He kneels down next to Jake, zipping down the hoodie. “Jake? Can you hear me?”

Jake’s eyes flutter open before closing again. His head drops to one side before he makes a clear effort to right it again.

“Jake?”

Jake coughs, and Kevin rears backward from the blood that spatters onto him. 

“Fuck,” Jake wheezes, a hand coming up and wiping some of the blood off his mouth. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Kevin says even though it’s not. He doesn’t know what to do with a gunshot wound, with the blood that’s still seeping out and the fact that it’s not just the blood loss that’s killing Jake. 

His neck veins are huge. In theory, Kevin knows what’s wrong: blood getting backed up, reduced blood flow, Jake dying from the air building up inside and the lack of air from outside. 

In practice, he’s useless.

“M’ dizzy,” Jake mutters, leaning forward and on his shoulder. “Sorry again.”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Kevin says. “Just try to breathe with me, alright? You’ll be ok, just try. Do it with me.”

“Can’t-”

“No, no, no, no. You can't die. I just... Not now. Come on. Listen. You... You with all your stupid films and jokes! Come on! Come on.”

“Kev.” Jake’s raspy voice cuts through him like a knife. “Chill out, buddy. It’s fine.”

Something snaps inside him at the words, and what starts as a small chuckle that he tries to choke back turns into full blown laughter that Kevin just can’t stop. “It’s not,” he somehow manages to get out, his hands gripping Jake’s shoulders and pushing him back but not away. “You are going to die here again, and I will see you again today, and it’s anything but fine, Jake.”

“Kevin-”

“I don’t want to kill you again!”

Jake looks at him, the damn static blurry circle blocking whatever emotions he might be showing in his eyes or his smile and just about everything else that Kevin can’t see. His hand moves up, threading through Kevin’s hair before pulling him closer again and he’s just too tired to put up a fight.

He’s so tired.

His body is shaking.

He’s tired of the looping that he keeps on trying to find a way out of to no avail. It will all end with the white ceiling with that stain in the corner and the alarm clock that shows the same date for the whatever time he had woken up anyway.

Back again and again.

“Hey, hey,” Jake says. His voice is getting weaker. God, Jake is about to die and here Kevin is. He wants to pull away again, but at the same time he doesn’t. “Kevin, don’t cry. It’s alright-” he coughs. It’s a horrible sound, wet and ugly. “Well no, it’s not right now but it will be, yeah? God, why did you choose me to have a breakdown in front of out of all people?”

“Good question,” Kevin mutters. “I don’t usually do this, nor do I do this with someone who is about to die.”

“Jeez, talk about timing,” Jake jokes. “Is that my final diagnosis doc?” He nods. “Damn, I was hoping for something more positive. Or at least you know, a white lie wouldn’t hurt.”

“Like what you were saying a few seconds ago?”

“Yeah,” Jake says. “But hey, it helps, doesn’t it?”

“Perhaps,” Kevin says. “Do you want me to tell you that you’ll pull through? That the ambulance, if one is even coming, will make it here in time?”

“Nah. Do something else for me though? Tell Amy that I love her?”

“Tell Amy that you love her,” he says at the same time as Jake does, and Jake gives him a stunned look before he laughs. 

And Kevin holds him close until the laughter fades out along with everything else. And even after that he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t let go when the exhaustion wears him down either.

* * *

The eighth time, Kevin wakes up slowly. There is no sudden jolt, nothing but the slow trickle of awareness that he’s back in the safe house again. 

He opens his eyes, blinking up at the ceiling before turning his head over to Jake. He’s still sleeping, a small trickle of drool from his open mouth wetting the pillow, and every now and then he shifts before settling down again. The red light catches on Jake’s messy hair, and Kevin doesn’t bother looking at the alarm clock again.

Instead he buries his face in the pillow and closes his eyes. 

He doesn’t sleep as much as just dozes, floating between wakefulness and a dreamy haze. He hears Jake move on occasion, hears him sleep talk too, Kevin thinks. 

The sounds of quiet living morph, eventually, into what Kevin dreads: Shuddering half-breaths that makes him sit up and shift over to Jake, close but not quite touching.

He’s tossing and turning now, the blanket half thrown off from the jerky movements alone. 

“Jake.” Kevin hesitates, not sure what to do with his hands. He wants to reach over, maybe shake Jake awake but he knows as well as anyone that that’s a bad idea. “Jake, wake up-”

Jake inhales sharply. His eyes fly open and he coughs and a part of Kevin expects blood to come out. It doesn’t, of course. It hasn’t happened yet, won’t happen- Now is not the time. 

He needs to do something.

Raymond would have started talking, his voice an anchor for Kevin to hold on to, to not drift away again. But that’s between Raymond and him, not Jake and him.

He doesn’t know what to do. 

It brings back some memories, him sitting there helpless, watching as Jake writhes and whimpers.

“K-Kevin?” Jake stutters out. “Where-”

“We’re in the safe house,” Kevin says slowly, pronouncing every word as clearly as he can. “it’s Sunday the 18th.”

“Oh,” Jake says. His chest is still moving at an irregular rhythm. “Oh.”

He looks lost and confused. He looks scared, rattled.

“It’s real,” Kevin adds. He barely believes his own words. “This is real.”

Jake chuckles in disbelief. “Sure.”

“Here, let me.” He gets closer, reaching out and giving Jake ample time to object. Instead he drags himself closer to Kevin, and he wraps his arms around Jake’s shoulder and Jake clings to him desperately so.

They stay in silence for a long time. The clock beeps at the top of the hour, and is it only 4 right now?

Jake remains so still that for a moment Kevin assumes that he’s drifted off, but then he stirs and says, “Sorry for waking you up.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s fine.”

“And, uh, thanks.”

“Why? I didn’t do anything.” It comes out more bitter than Kevin expected.

“For not just ignoring me, I guess,” Jake says. “For being here.”

Jake has woken up alone most of the loops before. A wave of guilt threatens to drown Kevin. “What do you usually do when this happens?” he asks.

“Not sure. I just kinda ride it off, I guess,” Jake hums. “It’s usually not that bad, really.”

“Doesn’t mean that it’s any less of a problem.” He hesitates, before asking, “Does this happen usually, Jake?”

“No?”

“Right.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“Am I right not to?”

Jake sighs, shaking his head. “Well, fine. Maybe. It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“I don’t want to bother you when I can deal with it fine,” Jake pushes on. “You never noticed anyway- Can we just move on? Let it be?”

“This-” has been happening frequently enough for Jake to consider it a norm. And Kevin has never, he didn’t know. “I’m sorry?”

“Ugh, now you’re saying sorry for stuff that you shouldn’t. Oh how the turntables.”

“Honestly. My apologies for never paying enough attention to know. That is,” he shrugs. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your responsibility. I know you don’t want to be here as much as I don’t want to be here.”

“No,” Kevin agrees. “Wake me up when these things happen again?”

“What? No way! You need your sleep Kev,” Jake argues. “Capt’s gonna have my ass if he finds out I’ve been fucking up your sleeping schedule.”

“Raymond’s going to have, in your words, your ass when he finds out about your predicament.”

“Sounds fake but ok.”

“He cares about you.”

“Oh,” Jake sounds choked up. “Well...that is. An interesting development.”

He gives Jake a pat on the back before letting go and moving back. “Are you planning on going back to sleep?”

“Probably, yeah.”

“Go to sleep then then.”

“Mmm’kay,” Jake mutters, laying back down. He curls into himself under the blanket, shifting before giving a satisfied hum. “Don’t go?”

“I will be here when you wake up. Now close your eyes, Jake.”

“Aight Kev.”

Kevin doesn’t bother correcting Jake, just sitting there until his breathing evens out. Outside the first rays of sunlight shine through the blinds. He keeps his steps light as he walks downstairs, gathering some paper and a pen before making his way to the bedroom again. 

It wouldn’t do at all if he broke the not quite promise to Jake.

Another mark joins the tally on his arm, done fast just in case Jake wakes up again. Kevin doesn’t pay too much attention or time to look at it either, quickly moving the sleeve back down and making sure nothing is in sight.

He had accidentally slipped up and told Jake about the loop last time without even thinking about the consequences. Not this time, he thinks, writing down notes that alternate between French and some rudimentary Greek that Raymond has taught him.

The car chase is too much of a risk and there's no guarantee of a good result, but it seems like that’s the only possible route when they get out of the house. A chase on foot in this classic suburban neighbourhood is worse when he considers the physical difference, and hiding in the house is… he doubts that would end well for either of them.

It certainly didn’t end well for Jake.

He needs to make sure Jake gets out alive.

He also needs to make sure Raymond gets out alive.

They seem to be the thing that this loop is hinged on, or at least that’s Kevin’s best bet. What other explanation is there, really?

...He can always turn himself in.

No, that would lead to Raymond and the team storming the warehouse, and that is even more unpredictable than the car chase. Too many moving parts, too many risks. 

Kevin sighs, crossing out another option and picking up the previous paper. The tree diagram is looking bleak.

Anything with the car chase is most likely a guaranteed loop around, and at this point the chances of them succeeding in the car chase are too small to even bother.

Anything with Murphy would be a guaranteed loop around too.

When Jake told him to run, he could've tried to help, he supposes, since Murphy’s men were least expecting it in that moment. Doing that in the future would be an option to consider then. Kevin makes a quick note of that, before going back to pen spinning with the occasional sighing.

“Kev?” Kevin quickly pauses his writing to turn and look at Jake. He looks better after 4 hours of sleep, according to a quick glance at the clock.

“Good morning.” 

Jake blinks, a hand coming up and wiping the sleep out of his eyes. “Yeah, morn,” he says, yawning right after.

Kevin gathers up the papers, checking everything over and making sure Jake does not get a hold of any stray papers. “How was your sleep?”

“Good, good,” Jake answers. He pauses, his hand half-way in the air before a smile appears. “You didn’t have to stay, you know?”

“I do.”

“Definitely not getting choked up or anything, this doesn’t make me feel anything weird, I swear.”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.”

Kevin shrugs. “It’s fine. Do you want something to eat?”

“That sounds good, not gonna lie.”

“Go clean up. I will be downstairs when you’re done.”

Jake nods, getting up. He stumbles, and Kevin quickly stands up just in time to see him crashing down on the floor, the blanket tangled and pooled around him. “Everything is totes fine!” he yells, failing to get up. “I’m fine!”

“Of course,” Kevin says, grabbing Jake’s hand and pulling him up properly. “Be more careful next time.”

“Careful is my middle name,” Jake grins dopely.

“I mean it, Jake.”

“That’s Jake Careful Peralta to you, Kev.”

“Go.”

Jake gives him another smile before he walks out of the room, and moments later Kevin hears the sound of a door slamming shut. He gets out of the bed too, the stack of papers in hand.

The stairs groan and creak under his weight as he walks down. The same drawer he used last loop is empty, not that Kevin expects anything to be in it. He quickly deposits the papers in there and closes the drawer before heading to the kitchen.

Upstairs Kevin hears the sound of Jake singing badly that echoes throughout the house. 

It’s not the same thing as the light Debussy playing from Raymond’s vinyl recorder, but somehow Kevin relaxes anyway. He washes his hands, gathering the needed ingredients and equipment before getting to work.

Eggs, milk, vanilla extract, flour, baking powder and sugar.

He’s carefully pouring the mixture in the pan when Jake gets down, his hair still wet. The hoodie is hastily thrown on, and Kevin thinks he sees some wet spots on the front of Jake’s shirt. 

“Oh? You’re making those big pancakes again?” Jake asks, looking over Kevin's shoulder. “Yesssss.”

“Soufflé pancakes, Jake,” Kevin corrects. “Go get the plates, would you? And whatever else you want to have with these.”

“Roger that prof.”

He pours some water in, covering the pan up. Jake’s shuffling through the cupboards, pulling out some syrup that Kevin knows he will use way too much of. “What’s the occasion? You don’t usually like, make these.”

“Why not?” Kevin answers, removing the cover and turning the pancakes over. They’re looking good, and he adds some more water in, covers them again and gets started on cleaning everything else up. “Are you complaining?”

“No- Of course not! Those are like, one of my favs,” Jake replies. He slides the plates over and Kevin nods in thanks. “We still have butter, right? Or do you have to tell Capt to get more?”

“It’s in the fridge.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s no problem.” Kevin lifts the cover up, nodding to himself before carefully placing the pancakes out on the plates. Jake lights up, skipping over with a large grin on his face that makes Kevin smile just a bit too.

“God that’s- ok I know you have taught me how to make these already and like, I failed miserably, but god do I really want to actually be able to make these.”

“Practice makes perfect.”

“If by practice you mean burning the house down then yes.”

“Don’t be dramatic. You only triggered the fire alarm and made Raymond extremely worried.”

Jake shrugs. He cuts some butter, placing it on before drizzling some syrup on. “Still. For once I actually ate the pancake and not just, you know, the butter and syrup. That’s saying something.”

“About your health, yes,” Kevin says, accepting the syrup that Jake passes over. “Sometimes you worry me.”

“Not most of the time?”

“I only allow myself a specific time window to think about you.”

Jake doesn’t reply, busy with cutting into the pancake and enjoying the finished product right in the kitchen. Kevin shrugs, picking up the fork and knife and eating his breakfast too. 

It’s good, as expected. Light, fluffy, just the right sweetness that he wants. 

“God, thank you,” Jake says with his mouth open. Kevin grimaces, and Jake gives him an apologetic look and swallows before continuing. “Thanks for the breakfast.”

“You’re washing the dishes,” Kevin says. “And you’re welcome.”

“Fair enough,” Jake shrugs. “And after that?”

“Hmmm?”

“Like, what do you wanna do after this?” Jake reaches for the empty plates and utensils that Kevin gladly passes over. “Nic Cage maybe?”

“Depends. Which of his movies do you want to watch?”

“Oh- You’re actually agreeing. Well I don’t know, Ghost Rider?”

Kevin looks at the clock, nodding. The movie will end an hour before Raymond comes, and he supposes they will come up with something to kill the time. “Sure. I will get the movie set up.”

“Noice.”

Ghost Rider is, as Kevin remembers, a mediocre film. Jake likes it though, and so Kevin supposes he can sit through this and then later, Gone in Sixty Seconds. 

Chess is so much better, Jake himself even suggests it. He knows the rules already, and Kevin doesn’t bother to focus on that fact, directing his attention to the chessboard instead. They alternate between black and white, though the result stays the same throughout: Jake getting close to winning before Kevin taking it away right before his very eyes. 

“Checkmate,” Kevin says.

“Fuuuuuck,” Jake groans. “Rematch.”

“Maybe later. Raymond’s about to come.”

“Well, later then,” Jake agrees, clearing his pieces. Kevin follows suit, putting the set on the couch behind them just in time for the specific knock pattern on the door to ring out. “Ah, lemme get it.”

Kevin watches as Jake crawls away, returning minutes later with Raymond in tow. He also has some oranges with him, as expected, and he sighs and accepts one when it’s offered.

He takes his time peeling the orange, separating it into halves and then one half into quarters. One half he hands Jake with a look and a raised eyebrow. “Jake?”

“Hmm?” 

“Oranges?”

“Oh- sure.” Kevin tosses the half over, Jake easily catching it. He leaves Jake be with his own...unique way of eating oranges, holding the quarter out to Raymond next.

The familiar scene plays: Raymond’s surprised expression that turns into a soft fondness, him reaching out, their hands brushing again. Kevin smiles down at his own small part of the orange, fidgeting with it for a moment before separating the pieces carefully and eating them.

It’s not bland. He can deal with a bland taste, but this is still tangy in the worst way possible.

“Good oranges, nice and dry. Not at all ripe,” Raymond says.

Kevin’s inclined to disagree. He doesn’t say that aloud of course, instead getting straight to the point. “Is there any chance that I can have my phone with me?”

He’s aware that this is a very sudden shift of topic. But Raymond just sighs at the question, not at all surprised that Kevin has asked. “I have already explained this on the first day. Phones, and by extension, any electrical devices are easily traceable.”

“In case of an emergency, Raymond. There’s no reliable nor viable way of contacting you if something were to happen.”

“If something were to happen,” Raymond echoes his words slowly with a clear tone of disbelief, bordering on a chuckle. Kevin thinks if he wasn’t risking death on a daily basis he would laugh at Raymond’s statement.

Actually, on second thought, he still would.

“I would be the first to know. There are cameras monitoring the safe house and at the clearest sign of aggression we will send people down. Your safety is top priority, Kevin.”

“Still,” he continues. “I would feel safer knowing I can reach you if worst comes to worst. Please?”

Raymond falters, then sighs. “If it helps then I will get you a burner phone tomorrow.” 

“Thank you, dear,” Kevin says, letting himself lean backward on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. “I love you.”

He doesn’t see Raymond’s expression, but it’s hard to believe he would react any differently from the last four times.

“I love you too,” Raymond replies slowly. “Kevin, I apologise for how I have been acting regarding the situation. It was, and it is... rather drastic of me.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “I apologise for how I have been acting these past weeks too.”

“It’s understandable considering the circumstances.”

“So it is.”

And the conversation ends, fading into a comfortable silence. Or at least a comfortable silence for Raymond and Jake. 

Even with more than two hours until Murphy’s men actually get here, there’s anticipation in the air. He’s restless, Kevin realises, his fingers tapping on the floor in a fast beat and his eyes darting to the window every now and then without him even wanting to. 

Is this how Jake usually feels?

Probably.

When Raymond makes a move to leave, Kevin tries to stifle a sigh of relief. The last thing Kevin needs is Raymond being here when the fight breaks out, even if Raymond does have more experience with these matters. 

He knows asking Raymond to stay here for the next two hours would be a futile effort anyway. He has his meetings, and Kevin has his half-baked plan that’s part of an even worse plan.

The door closes with a click that echoes through the safe house. 

Jake doesn’t miss a beat, already crawling to the box and ruffling through the choices. Kevin watches on with part amusement, part dread. He will not pay any attention to the movie anyway, but it doesn’t make it any less horrible of an experience.

“Soooooooo, it has been long enough that I can start another movie, right? Please say yes, please say yes,” Jake says, holding Gone in Sixty Seconds up. “Please please please-”

“Alright.”

“That’s- huh. I was expecting more of a struggle, to be honest. A little lacking in excitement, gotta say,” Jake shrugs. “Well, either way, make yourself comfortable, Kev.”

Kevin does, leaning back as Jake starts the movie. Jake’s smile doesn’t leave his face as the movie progresses, and Kevin’s eyes flicker between Jake and the window. His leg bounces, another annoying habit that Kevin doesn’t think he can tell himself to stop doing right now. 

It’s all the pent-up energy, that’s probably it.

“Randall Raines ... It's been a long time ...'though I do I recall you as a man with style." Jake echoes along with the actor on screen. 

“You remember your old friend, Atley?” Kevin mutters, low enough that Jake doesn’t pick it up over the actual sound from the movie and his own recital.

“Excuse me one moment, Randall.”

There’s a view of a bloody windshield here, he remembers that. He also remembers that the cars should be pulling up very soon now.

“You bring this to me in this condition? Blood and guts all over it? You make me complicit? On my property? Who taught you how to think? And worst of all: weren't there supposed to be two Hondas?”

And there’s Brian and his friends. Kevin sits up straighter, stretching his arms up before letting them drop back down.

“No, no. You don't kill me, because you can't. You don't take your brother and run, because we'd find him. You don't go to the police, because we have friends there, too. You do nothing: except deal with me,” the character continues, Jake continues.

He taps on Jake’s shoulder. “We’re being watched.”

“Excuse me what now?”

“Don’t be obvious,” Kevin says. Jake nods, gesturing for him to go on. “There are three cars outside, opposite to that window. They have been in the same spot at the same time for the past week, just parked there and done nothing.”

“Oh,” Jake whispers. “Are you sure? It could be the neighbours, for all we know.”

“They are armed.”

“That’s not good,” Jake says, looking from the window to where one of the cameras is situated. “What should we do? Raymond’s not checking the camera right now so there’s no way we can notify him. Damn, maybe you were onto something with the burner phone idea.”

“Focus.”

“Sorry. Do you think they will do something?”

“Yes,” Kevin says. “Which is why I’m notifying you about this.”

“Ok, cool cool cool cool cool-” Jake mutters, clearing his throat. “Sorry, yes. Anyway, we need to think of a plan or something right about now, you know? Bad guys are literally at our door kinda situation. Do you think pretending that nobody’s home will work? Oh, don’t give me that look, it happened before and it worked, thank you very much.”

Kevin shakes his head. “It won’t this time.”

“We’re so fucked then,” Jake says. “Do you think all of them are gonna come in together?”

“They know there has to be someone else staying with me, a police officer, so chances are yes. Three cars, so at least three people, maybe more.”

“Those are not very good odds.”

“No,” he agrees and doesn’t add anything else.

“So we have no plan, we’re outnumbered and outgunned.” Jake brings a hand up and threads through his hair, cursing. “That’s- Ok, we still have some time before they move, or seems like it at least. Maybe I can think of something, and you can think of other things because you’re really smart, and we can have something!”

“That’s our best bet right now, so yes.”

“Okaaaay then.”

The movie plays in the background, and every now and then Kevin can hear the loud explosions and sound effects from the tv that get louder and louder before fading out as the last scene plays. Beside him Jake’s muttering, stray words and sentences that Kevin can barely string together into a sentence. 

He shrugs, leaving Jake be until he sees movement from the car. “Do you have anything?” Kevin asks, despite already knowing the answer.

“No,” Jake admits through gritted teeth. “This is bad. Fuck. Ok, Kevin, you gotta go. Lock yourself in a room, barricade the damn thing, whatever. I will try to deal with them.”

“Jake-”

“It’s fine. Just go, you don’t have much time until-” a knock on the door interrupts Jake, and he swears again. “I got this. Go.”

“Be careful,” Kevin says, and quickly takes off to the open window. He counts the seconds until he hears the first gunshot, most likely to open the door, and gets out.

Behind him, Jake shouts, “Yippee-Ki-Yay, Motherfucker!”

Kevin runs. He doesn’t have time to waste, only pausing to check that all of them are in the safe house before getting to the car. A rock does quick work of the window and Kevin opens the door, seeing too many firearms in the backseat. That will do.

He grabs a handgun, checking for the ammunition and clicking the safety off. Then it’s turning back to the safe house, taking a deep breath before making a move.

At least all the pent-up energy is being used now. Kevin feels strangely relaxed with his hands around the gun, his trigger finger lying along the side of it. From here, through the window he can see one of the goons standing there, almost leaning against the glass. 

It’s an easy target, and Kevin takes aim and presses the trigger. 

The moment he does, he takes on a sprint around the house, back to the original window that he climbed out of. Every second counts, and Kevin hops back in, keeping low and carefully leaning over, taking a look at the living room.

Jake’s on the couch, his head hanging low. There’s a pool of blood that’s undoubtedly Jake’s on the ground, and his hands seem to be tied behind his back. Jake writhes in his seat, and Kevin can also see zip ties around his ankles.

Behind Jake is another one of them, so the other two must have sprinted out to investigate.

Kevin rushes until he’s at a good enough point to aim, and aim he does. Another press, his finger slowly increasing the pressure until the shot goes off and the man falls down with a scream.

He wants to sprint over to Jake right now.

He also knows there are two more, one of them already walking back into the house, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floor. Kevin ducks back down then, keeping quiet and waiting for his opportunity to fire.

“Fuck- he got Liam.” A voice, Brian’s voice, rings out. “Fucking smart ass. He must be around here somewhere then. Go check around.”

“Got it,” another voice answers, and the footsteps appear to be heading to where he is. Kevin curses in his head, readying the gun. 

The moment he sees actual movement as opposed to just hearing it, Kevin springs into action. Two shots ring out, one that Kevin’s aware is from his gun and another that he can only assume comes from the other. 

One shot hits, and Kevin doesn’t stay to watch the man crumble onto the ground, blood pouring from his face. 

Brian having the pistol right up at Jake’s head stops him in his steps though. “Drop the fucking gun,” he says, looking him in the eyes. “Or the detective gets it.”

Jake whimpers. All that earns for him is the gun pressing at him harder, right at his temple. 

“Ok,” Kevin says, crouching down slowly and putting his gun down. “Ok. Let’s calm down here.”

Brian grins at his more than useless attempt. “Kick it over.” The gun skits over to Brian, stopping right where his feet are. 

“Let him go,” Kevin continues. “I’ll come willingly, just don’t hurt him.”

“What? Like this?” And Brian points his gun down and fires at Jake’s leg.

Jake screams. Kevin flinches, eyeing the blood seeping through the fabric. “Yes, like that,” he answers through gritted teeth.

“Turn the fuck around.” He does, and behind him Brian gives a chuckle. “Walk backward toward me. Follow his little gasp, yeah?”

Kevin moves slowly until Brian tells him to stop. He must be rather close to the both of them now, and it would not be easy but he could turn around and try to disarm Brian. 

Jake makes a pained noise, a mix between a sob and a gasp.

And Kevin doesn’t resist Brian jamming the needle through his shirt at his shoulder. It works fast, whatever the drug he’s being given is and in an instant Kevin feels tired. Standing is more difficult than ever, even registering the room around him is proving to be a challenge.

“Good.” He thinks he hears Brian say, before the world around him slips into total darkness, unconsciousness claiming him.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Kevin wakes up to water being splashed at his face, some getting into his mouth, and he leans forward, coughing it out. He blinks, trying to focus his blurry vision until the concrete floor he’s staring at is actually recognisable as a concrete floor, even if it’s still spinning.

Murphy yanking him up by the hair until Kevin’s looking directly at the smug grin on his face definitely does not help with the latter. 

“Nice nap?” 

Kevin blinks a few more times, taking in Murphy’s face before shrugging. “Top five easily.”

Murphy looks surprised for a split second before he laughs at him loudly, releasing his grip and walking back from Kevin. Kevin takes the chance to look around the warehouse, taking everything in before looking back. “Hello Murphy, what can I help you with today?”

“Polite and straight to the point. I like it.” Murphy still has a mocking grin stretched on his face as he pulls out a phone from his pocket. “You can help me by sitting there, looking pretty until Raymond comes. Then I’m going to kill you in front of him, let him watch you suffer then kill him too.”

“As one does.”

“What can I say? It’s just another day of business.” Murphy’s typing something into his phone, the beeping echoing off the warehouse they’re in. “Which, no hard feelings Kevin. I really didn’t want you to get involved, you know, but Raymond is really poking his nose around things he shouldn’t be. And I can’t have that here.”

“He’s a police officer.”

“One that accepted my deal, and then screwed me over the moment I looked away.” He walks over to Kevin, turning the phone to face him. Kevin knows it shows Raymond’s phone number, but he’s more distracted by what Murphy has just said to actually read the digits.

“What deal?”

Murphy somehow looks even more gleeful. “He didn’t even tell you?”

“I know you’re after me because of Raymond, hence the safe house.”

“Ah, the classic information omitting. Go figure,” Murphy mutters, snapping his fingers. A chair gets dragged over, positioned opposite to Kevin and he sits down with his legs propped up on Kevin’s thighs. “What do you know about Peralta and Diaz’s little prison getaway?”

“They were framed, then released when the 99th precinct uncovered Hawkins’ role in all of this.”

“Oh come on, that’s the boring media version. What do you know, Kev?”

“Please don’t call me Kev.”

“You’re not in a position to tell me what to do or not to do.”

Well, Kevin has to give that point to Murphy. He is tied to a wooden chair, the rope digging into his wrists and around his torso and unfortunately, Murphy’s the one in charge. “I did not tell you what to do,” he corrects anyway. “I asked. Politely at that.”

“Well fair enough,” Murphy amends. ”What do you actually know, Kevin?” 

“Just that,” he answers. “Raymond doesn’t usually talk about his work, and in return I usually don’t bring home Beowulf.”

“Sounds boring. You two just not talk about your work life? Like at all?”

“I don’t imagine you talking about your day as the head of a crime family to your significant other.”

Murphy’s smile lessens in its intensity. “Back to the topic. Your little precinct would not have been able to solve the case without a little tip from yours truly. Your husband accepted my helping hand.”

Kevin sighs. “A favour for a favour.”

“A favour for a favour,” Murphy nods.

“Did he not deliver?”

“No no, he got me my needed block party permit. He also fucked everything else up.” Murphy leans forward, and Kevin blinks at the sudden close distance. “Somehow his band of misfits got their hands on my nephew. Kyle’s too stupid to realise it of course, but he’s working in cahoots with the cops. And I don’t take kindly to people fucking with my business and family, Kevin.”

He hates to admit it, but Murphy has a point. That fact does not make the situation any better. “A favour for a favour, an eye for an eye.”

Murphy chuckles. “In a way. I have to paint an example, and I think you will look lovely in red.”

“Blood doesn’t feel that good when it’s everywhere,” Kevin says. “Especially my blood.”

“Like I said, nothing personal. You will have to put up with it, I'm afraid. But before that.” Murphy presses call on the phone, and the familiar dial tone beeps. His finger hovers above the phone before he puts it on speaker too.

Kevin counts 3 seconds before Raymond picks up. 

“Hello, this is Raymond Holt speaking.”

“Hello Raymond,” Murphy says. He raises a finger to his lips, and Kevin nods. “How is it going?”

“Why are you calling me?”

“To talk, obviously. How’s Kevin?”

“Cut to the chase, Seamus.”

“Impatient,” Murphy tuts. “I have an offer to make, if you’re interested.”

“I’m not. Accepting an offer with you is what got us here in the first place,” Raymond says. 

Murphy chuckles at his words, looking up at Kevin with a raised eyebrow. “No no, you fucking with me is what got us here. But like I said, my door’s always open if you want to do business. And it is very open right now.”

“No.”

“You’re not even going to hear what I have to say? Rude, Raymond.”

“You don’t have anything that I need.”

“I have Kevin.”

Raymond’s sharp intake of breath is audible through the phone. He and Murphy sit there for at least a minute of silence before Raymond continues. “Kevin is at an undisclosed location, safe.”

Murphy moves the phone closer to him. “No, no I’m not Raymond,” Kevin says tiredly.

The silence stretches out even more after his words.

“What’s your offer?”

“You coming here, alone. No backup, no weapon, nothing,” Murphy says. “If I see any of your precious cops with you, Kevin’s a goner. The moment I think you’re scheming, Kevin’s a goner. I said this once and I will say it again, Raymond, don’t you even think about screwing with me.”

“And what do I get?”

“The chance of seeing Kevin alive. Me possibly letting your husband go, who knows?”

“When and where?” Raymond asks.

“Don’t ask stupid questions. I know you’re tracking the phone as we speak. And as for the when.” Murphy looks at him. He’s grinning that infuriating grin again. “You can take your sweet sweet time getting here, as long as you want. Just know that I will be spending that time with your husband.”

“Don’t-”

“Worried, Raymond?” Murphy cuts in. “I think you have better things to concentrate on right now. Say, dropping by the safe house, for example.”

Fuck. “Jake?” Kevin asks. 

Murphy nods, speaking aloud again. “Your detective is probably bleeding out at this moment, so better hurry.”

Murphy ends the call, sliding the phone back into his pocket. He leans back on his chair, arms behind his head. “Don’t look so worried. Your detective will be fine.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No, I don’t, but it’s not like you can do anything about it right now,” he shrugs. “Any shot is a lethal shot. You would know that yourself, wouldn’t you?”

“I would,” Kevin chuckles. Of course Murphy isn’t referring to the time Kevin died, or the multiple times Jake has died but it doesn’t make it any less hilarious. “I’m sorry for killing off your team. In my defense, well, it was in self-defense so.”

“There are always risks in this line of work,” Murphy slowly says. He’s regarding Kevin with a new look in his eyes, and Kevin can’t exactly blame him. It’s not every day that he admits to murder with such ease. “I can’t exactly blame you for taking the shot. I’m more surprised by the fact that you knew how to even hold a gun.”

“I’m married to a police officer.”

“Touché.”

They lapse into a silence, one that's neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. Murphy occasionally takes out his phone to do whatever he does, but most of the time he’s looking at Kevin. His intense gaze burns.

Kevin shifts in his seat, focusing his attention to somewhere else other than Murphy.

Brian is leaning on one of the walls, tapping his foot on the floor. At the moment Kevin can only see him, but he doesn’t doubt that Murphy has more men with him, scattered around this warehouse, not in sight.

He hopes Raymond comes with backup. Well, Raymond did come with backup last time, and Kevin suspects that Jake’s injury will only spur the precinct into more direct action.

Eventually he runs out of things to look at, and his neck is complaining from the awkward angle he’s holding it at so Kevin sighs, turning back to look at Murphy again.

For someone who’s the head of the most brutal crime family in New York and the reason for the worst two months (and repeated days) of Kevin’s life, he doesn’t look like much of a threat right now. He’s focused on his phone again, typing something down with a concentrated look on his face.

When Murphy looks up, he seems surprised at Kevin watching him. “What?”

Kevin shrugs. “How are you?” he asks, just to see Murphy look even more baffled. It’s a better look than the smug grinning, he decides. 

“Good,” Murphy answers hesitantly. “And you?”

“You’re asking your hostage who’s tied to a chair and who you will probably kill in a bit?”

“You’re the one who asked your captor and possible killer first.”

“Well, I’ve been better,” Kevin says. Murphy gives a small chuckle, putting his phone away and leaning forward to Kevin again. 

“You’re awfully relaxed for someone in your position,” he says. Or asks, Kevin supposes. There’s a question there somewhere.

“Once I’m here it’s not like I can do much else,” Kevin says. “Me trying to escape would be a futile effort, far as I’m concerned.”

“Smart.”

“I didn’t get my doctorate out of luck.”

“That’s book smarts, not street smarts,” Murphy points out. “I can name you people with higher education that are hopeless in these kinds of things. People you would know, at least some of them.”

“Some people just don’t have any shred of common sense.”

“And most people don’t know how to shoot a gun. What does that make you, Kevin?”

“Someone with common sense who knows how to handle a gun?” he answers blandly. 

Murphy laughs. Good to know that he’s amusing someone. “You know, it will be a shame when I slit your throat in front of Raymond. You don’t seem like someone I’d want to kill.”

“Don’t then,” Kevin says, even if he knows chances are Murphy will not change his mind. But at this point, anything is worth a shot. 

“Won’t be that easy, I’m afraid,” Murphy makes a move to stand up. He starts circling Kevin, almost predatory in a way. “Maybe you can put on a better show in front of Raymond.”

He turns his head, seeing Brian jog outside. Raymond must have arrived then.

“Now now, that’s nothing for you to be focusing on right now,” Murphy says. Seconds later there’s a knife to his throat, not pressing in but merely laying there on the skin. “Behave. It will make it easier for both sides.”

He doesn’t nod or shake his head, seeing as the knife is still there. “If I behave, would you try to not get too much blood on my clothing?” Kevin asks. “It’s very uncomfortable.”

“How do you- well, nevermind. And no promises.”

He can hear more activities happening around him now, rapid footsteps being the most prominent sound out of all of them. And before he knows it, Brian is walking back with Raymond in tow.

Kevin hates the look Raymond has when his eyes flicker to him, and more specifically to the obvious knife at his throat. It’s not a rational hate, he knows Raymond’s scared for both of their lives right now and worrying is a natural response, but still.

“Hello Seamus,” Raymond says cautiously. “Kevin.” 

“Raymond. I see you came alone. And hopefully unarmed.”

“I am.”

Murphy laughs. “Like hell I’m going to trust that. Brian, pat him down.”

Kevin watches as Raymond gets patted down, still not quite sure about whether or not Raymond actually has any weapons with him. He’s not sure about what happened after he got stabbed in general, really.

“What do you want?” Raymond asks. 

“I told you. You mess with my family, I mess with yours.” Kevin can’t see it, but he knows Murphy’s having that grin on his face again. “Here’s what's going to happen. You are going to let my boys here tie you down with no resistance, and maybe I will let your husband live.”

“Let him go, Seamus. This is between you and me.”

“Oh babe, you’re the one who crossed that line first.” Murphy presses down, and the blade breaks through skin. Kevin holds still, letting Murphy have his theatrical act. “Take. A. Seat.”

Raymond grits his teeth, but he does follow the direction, sitting back on the uncomfortable wooden chair and letting Brian tie him up. “Good boy. See, that wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

The blade hasn’t stopped cutting into him, getting deeper every second. Kevin frowns at the flow of blood trailing down from the cut. 

Raymond’s jaw is clenched tight.

“Now that you are nice and secure, I have another offer to make.” Murphy removes the knife from his neck, cleaning the blade on his shirt as he continues. “We have your husband here, about to die one way or another… And we have your squad out there. Oh, don’t look so surprised, of course I know. Who do you think I am, some amateur? No no, I got eyes everywhere here Raymond. And I also got guns everywhere here.”

“Absolutely not.”

“That’s what you said earlier too, and here we are. So maybe you should rethink your answer before saying stupid things aloud.”

Raymond’s eyes are darting around the warehouse before he looks slightly above Kevin, and he assumes he’s looking straight at Murphy. “What’s your offer this time around then?”

“Kevin or your team. You get to pick who will get out of here alive, and of course that’s not including you,” Murphy says. “Think of it as your last dying wish. I’m feeling generous today.”

“And what if I don’t take the offer?”

Murphy sighs, stopping his movement with the knife and just letting it rest on Kevin’s shoulder. “Well, everyone dies.”

And he brings his knife up, and this time Kevin knows to try and avoid the stab. With all his strength, he leans to the left and the chair gives, going down with him. Murphy goes down with his own momentum as well, and the knife digs itself into one of the legs. 

Murphy’s half leaning down now, his other hand has shot out to keep him somewhat above and away from the floor. It’s a good angle for Kevin to see Murphy’s shocked face before the sound of gunshots from outside begins.

“Well then,” Murphy mutters, stumbling back up and straightening his leather jacket. “Everyone dies, it is.”

And Kevin watches as Murphy pulls out his gun, pointing it at Raymond and firing, unloading the gun until the screaming stops too. There’s the sound of reloading followed in quick succession, and then he’s looking down at the barrel.

“Sorry, but I can’t leave you alive either,” Murphy says. “You’re too good, you see?”

There’s pain, and then there’s nothing.

* * *

The ninth time, Kevin wakes up. 

There’s nothing besides the white ceiling with the specific stain in the corner that greets him, and Kevin blinks a few times, getting used to the darkness around him. 

It’s not quite darkness to be fair: there’s the natural light shining through some gaps in the blinds and then there’s the alarm clock with its red hue that will surely be displaying Sunday the 18th, exact time unknown.

He couldn’t care less about finding that out right now.

Instead Kevin rolls over, seeing Jake still sleeping soundly beside him and decides that he will just try to do that too. If it’s anything like the last loop, and it should be, then whenever Jake has one of his less than pleasant dreams/flashbacks he will make just enough noise to wake Kevin up.

Then what comes next, comes next Kevin supposes. 

He buries his face into the pillow, closes his eyes and tries to drift off. 

And strangely enough, Kevin doesn't get woken up by whimpers or cries or anything of the same variety. The clock beeps in a constant loud rhythm, and it takes his sleep muddled brain a moment to realise that that’s the usual alarm clock that he set on Saturday the 17th.

It’s 10 in the morning then. This alarm is more for Jake than anything, though once or twice during his stay he has let himself sleep in later than usual.

Kevin opens his eyes, closing them right away when the sunlight assaults his eyes. Out of all the places in the room, the stray light through the window just has to be shining straight at his eyes, huh?

He brings his hand up, blocking the light, and tries opening his eyes again. It’s better this time and Kevin stifles a yawn.

Beside him the alarm clock’s still blaring. He reaches over and turns it off, plunging the room back to its original quietness that’s occasionally disturbed by Jake’s muttering.

Jake’s still not up, despite the loud noises that must have been going on for at least a minute. Kevin debates shaking him up and maybe making something for the both of them to eat before dropping his hand back down to his side at the last moment.

They’re not in a hurry to go anywhere just yet. And plus, Jake deserves a nice sleep. 

It’s nice to know that there isn’t anything from the last loop that got transferred over this time.

Kevin gets out of bed, careful not to wake Jake. He closes the door softly behind him, navigating to the bathroom and locking the door.

Another tally mark, and then the rest of his morning routine. And maybe a shower. 

That sounds good. 

The hot water, near burning, feels good. It doesn’t take long for the steam to fog up the glasses, and Kevin lets out a sigh. He looks down, stopping at the red marks around his chest that he has come to recognise as bullet wounds from the previous loops.

Murphy did not hold back then. Kevin can see at least 4 marks, one in particular that’s right where his heart is. 

It’s a good policy though, shooting until you’re sure your target is dead. Kevin should do that more often. At the very least it could save Jake another suffocating death.

Kevin shakes his head. That’s a few days (but not quite) ago, and there’s certainly no reason for him to think back on it again. He finishes his shower, turning the water off and drying himself. 

The tally has not faded, remarkably so. There’s only the newest addition that has been washed off and Kevin retraces the line before getting dressed, making sure the sleeve has covered up any and all tallies and the collar is high enough to hide the red line across his neck at least until it fades.

The morning is going strangely well, he muses. Jake’s still asleep when Kevin checks on him, and Kevin thinks that as much as he wants Jake to sleep in, he’s drawing the line at 11. 

Which gives him plenty of time to get started on a late breakfast. He has already made pancakes for the not-quite yesterday, so something different that Jake still likes then. 

15 minutes later the sliced bread is in the oven and Kevin’s adding some citrus into his custard in the form of the zest from one lemon and a splash of bourbon. He whisks the custard until it’s ready, just in time for the bread to finish in the oven.

From there it’s just dunking the bread in, making sure both sides are nicely soaked through. The stovetop is ready, his butter already sizzling, and Kevin gets into the rhythm of frying the toasts, letting the finished ones rest in the oven before starting over again until he has enough for both of them.

It’s a quarter to eleven when Jake stumbles down. His hair is still wet, the hoodie is hastily thrown on and he looks well rested. A rare sight for Kevin to see, really. 

“Morning,” Jake mutters, walking over and looking down at the almost finished plate of French toast. “Oh- woaaaah. So that’s where the smell came from.”

“Can you get the butter and maple syrup?”

“Why yes I can.”

Kevin puts the last two slices on the plate, Jake tops his stack with a large cut of butter and drowns his plate in syrup before passing it over to Kevin. 

He has probably made his plate too sweet too, but well, Kevin can enjoy this every now and then. Especially when he knows what will happen during the afternoon.

“God, thank you,” Jake says with his mouth open, pauses, swallowing properly before continuing talking. “Sorry- Still, thanks for the breakfast.”

“You’re welcome.” Kevin takes the last bite of his French toast, enjoying the taste and putting the fork and knife down. “You’re doing the dishes.”

“Fair enough,” Jake shrugs. “And after that?”

“Your choice.”

“I’m literally giving you a chance to not watch Nic Cage as another thank you, Kevin.”

It’s a sweet gesture in a way, Kevin muses, shrugging. “We can watch a Nicolas Cage movie,” he says.

Jake blinks at him once, twice. His mouth’s open, forming letters but no sound comes out and then he closes it with a click, before opening it again. “I’m sorry what was that?”

“Don’t make me repeat it.”

“You want to watch Nic Cage with me!”

“I tolerate it because you like watching it,” Kevin replies. “Go put a movie on before I change my mind.”

Jake grins at him. “Roger that prof.”

He sits down on the couch, and next to him Jake has already started National Treasure. It’s a horrible film that goes on for too long, in Kevin’s opinion. To be fair his opinion is this film should not exist at all, but Jake has said that it’s not a valid opinion to have on National Treasure so who is he to know?

It is longer than Kevin remembers though, or maybe it’s because they started later in the morning. When Raymond knocks on the door the movie is only about to end, and Jake presses pause at an unfortunate close shot of Nicolas Cage to get the door.

Kevin sighs, turning the tv off entirely and making himself comfortable on the ground. The sofa is soft to lean on, at least.

When Raymond walks in in his usual outfit that Kevin’s too familiar with, holding a bag of oranges with him, Kevin allows a small smile to make its way across his face.

After seeing Raymond get shot by Murphy in such a cold, ruthless way, it’s nice to see Raymond actually looking good.

Except that he does not look that good upon closer inspection. He’s tired, slightly leaning back and Kevin knows that doesn’t happen except for when Raymond has just pulled an all nighter, too focused on solving a case to go to bed.

Even his blinking is at an irregular rhythm, eyes fluttering shut for too long before forcing himself to open them again, to stay awake.

Kevin shares a look with Jake, noting how Jake has already come to the same conclusion if his worried look is anything to go by. But Raymond doesn’t say anything about it, merely offering the oranges that he has brought with him.

He accepts one, giving Jake a look that spurs him into action and makes him accept the other with minimal grumbling about Orangina. Kevin takes his time peeling it, separating it in half only this time and offering one half back to Raymond.

Raymond blinks at him. There's a clear surprise on his face that melts into a soft fondness.

Their hands brush again when Raymond reaches out. “Thank you, Kevin.”

“It’s no problem.”

Kevin eats his own part then, chewing and swallowing in silence with Raymond and Jake. 

Good oranges, nice and dry, Kevin thinks and privately disagrees with the statement the moment it pops into his mind.

“Good oranges, nice and dry. Not at all ripe,” Raymond says aloud.

Jake gives a vague hum that sounds like agreement. Kevin merely nods at his words, putting his half-finished half orange down. 

He’s about to ask Raymond about the burner phone when Raymond beats him to it. “Kevin,” he starts, his hand slipping into the pocket of his jacket, ruffling around.

“Yes dear?”

Raymond, to Kevin’s surprise and barely hidden delight, pulls out a flip phone. It’s a small one, an old one and he knows that Raymond’s holding a burner phone in his hand.

“Woah Capt, I thought you said no electronic devices?” Jake asks, leaning forward. “And where did you get that from? Did you rob a museum or something?”

“This is an exception,” Raymond says, sliding it over to Kevin. “After some thinking, I have decided that a TracFone would not be a high risk for you two to have as an emergency contact.”

“TracFone?”

“Burner phone, Peralta.”

“Ah. Well you could have just said so instead of whatever fancy jargon you were using.”

Raymond sighs. “Focus. This is, and I stress, for emergency calls only. I trust that you have my phone number memorised already, but just in case,” he glances at Jake. “It is saved here.”

“Sounds good,” Jake says. “Oh, we can do that cool thing where we talk on the phone and then just throw it away!”

“Emergency, Peralta. Which part of that explanation did you not catch?”

“Jeez, I was just joking. I know, I know.”

Kevin tunes out the banter, holding the phone in his hand, flipping it open. Raymond’s number is indeed saved in the contacts, and Kevin hums. 

Raymond most likely got to this point from Kevin’s constant talk every loop that he can remember. But he knows it’s also something else, and when Kevin looks up at Raymond, their eyes meet like Raymond has been staring at him for a while too.

It’s a familiar, too familiar emotion, and Kevin sighs. 

He moves over, his hand reaching out, hooking under Raymond’s collar to tug him closer. Jake makes a squealing noise in the background when he presses a small kiss to Raymond’s forehead, then the bridge of his nose, his cheek and the corner of his mouth. 

“Thank you,” Kevin says.

Raymond draws a shuddering breath. “You’re welcome.”

“You didn’t get a good night's sleep at all, did you?”

“I can’t hide anything from you,” Raymond says, diverting his eyes away. Kevin sighs again, pressing a chaste kiss to Raymond’s lips.

“No,” Kevin chuckles. “Try to go to bed earlier tonight? It will be fine, I promise.”

He doesn’t know that, of course, doesn’t know how, would Raymond even die today. But it’s a good enough reassurance for Raymond, and for now that’s all that matters.

“I will.”

Kevin nods, satisfied. He moves back to his seat, deliberately ignoring Jake almost crying and plays with the phone again.

This is uncharted territory now. He can call Raymond when the cars first get here, and from there it’s just trying to survive long enough for help to arrive. He can do that.

Perhaps another car chase is in order if worst comes to worst then.

“I’m sorry to cut this short but unfortunately, it is now time for me to take my leave,” Raymond speaks up at some point, stopping his train of thought. “Goodbye, Kevin. Peralta.”

“See ya Capt,” Jake cheerfully says. 

“Goodbye Raymond,” Kevin says simply. “Take care.”

The telltale sound of the door clicking open before closing again announces Raymond’s departure, and then it’s just Jake and him alone in the house again. And in a few moments, Jake and him and a movie playing in the background. And in two hours, give or take...

The burner phone will come in handy.

“Soooooooo, can we finish the film and then start Gone in Sixty Seconds next? Please?” Jake starts beside him, holding Gone in Sixty Seconds up. Kevin doesn’t even know when Jake moved and grabbed the DVD.

“Alright.” 

“That’s- huh. I was expecting more of a struggle, to be honest,” Jake shrugs. “Well, either way, make yourself comfortable, Kev.”

Kevin does, leaning back as Jake presses play on National Treasure, the last few scenes playing before he puts Gone in Sixty Seconds in.

“Randall Raines ... It's been a long time ...'though I do I recall you as a man with style. You remember your old friend, Atley?” Jake echoes along with the actor on screen. 

The offset from finishing National Treasure means that the cars have arrived at this line of dialogue instead. Kevin shifts, tapping on Jake’s shoulder and catching his attention.

“Excuse me one moment, Randall,” the movie plays. 

“Excuse me one moment, Kev,” Jake mutters, clearly enamored by what’s playing.

Kevin sighs, getting straight to the point. “We’re being watched.”

“Excuse me what now?”

“Don’t be obvious,” Kevin says, waiting for Jake to nod before continuing. “There are three cars outside, opposite to that window. They have been in the same spot at the same time for the past week, just parked there and done nothing.”

“Oh,” Jake whispers. “Are you sure? It could be the neighbours, for all we know.”

“They are armed.”

“Fuck,” Jake says. “Where’s the phone?”

Kevin hands Jake the burner, watching as he flips it open and types in Raymond’s number. So he does have it memorised. 

Jake brings the phone to his ears, and Kevin counts 3 seconds before the call starts. The sound is loud enough that he can catch Raymond’s side of the conversation.

“Hey Caaaaptain Holt,” Jake says.

“Peralta, let me repeat my point. You only use this for emergencies.”

“Why do you just assume that- well nevermind. Listen, Murphy’s men are outside. Yes I’m sure, hell, it’s Kevin that saw it first so you know.”

“Have they made any move?”

“No, they’re just kinda parking their cars there. But I think they will rush the house fast, so you know, some help would be appreciated.”

“Ok. Stay put, call me if you have any more updates. Help is coming,” Raymond says.

“Ok. See you in, well, see you whenever you get here. Bye,” Jake says, ending the call. “Well, you heard the captain. Stay in and hope for the best, as one does.”

Kevin nods, tries not to fidget in his seat. It will be a while until Brian and his gang move, hopefully long enough for the force to actually get here in time.

They have ample time, really. Kevin would be more surprised if they didn’t get here in time.

The movie plays on. Jake’s eyes are glued to Nicolas Cage. Kevin keeps his eyes firmly on the clock, counting the seconds.

They didn’t come here in time. Jake nudges at him. “You’re right, those guys are armed. And moving. And Dadtain is not here yet-”

Kevin tries to not be surprised, merely making a mental note of this new fact. Murphy’s men have also moved earlier than expected, and he wonders what caused the change this time. Merely calling Raymond can not have that big of an impact, a whole 20 minutes headstart for the enemy, right?

“The window can be climbed out of. Get your gun and the phone, we’re moving,” Kevin says quickly. 

Jake nods, doing just that. 

Someone knocks on the door, and Kevin grabs Jake’s wrist and runs. Hopping the window is easy, and he moves immediately, knowing Jake’s following him right behind. 

They have all entered the house when he reaches the front, and at this point Jake’s smart enough to catch on to the plan. He gives Kevin the sign to stay put, and he rolls his eyes.

Of course he doesn’t stop when Jake tells him to, instead tagging along to Jake’s chosen car. 

From there it’s easy, too easy to take Jake’s gun out of his hand and take aim. Kevin doesn’t stop at one car, moving on quickly once the sign of oil spillage happens. 

“Kevin, get in!”

“Don’t go just yet,” Kevin says, getting seated on his side. “And move your head down. No, lower.”

Jake does just in time for the front door to open, giving him a clear view through the broken window. Kevin fires, knowing he has gotten at least one of them and nods. “Alright, drive.”

Jake does, pressing on the pedal and they speed off and away. The safe house fades away in the distance, and Kevin counts the seconds, forcing his breathing to slow down. Raymond’s aware of this now, so they just have to stall for long enough. 

“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. Kevin what the fuck did you just do?”

“Give me the phone.”

“No- you can’t just take a gun like that,” Jake’s still going, and Kevin sighs. He passes the gun back.

“You’re right. I should have asked first,” Kevin says. “My apologies.”

“It’s-” Jake takes a deep breath, in and out. “Fine. Just, don’t do that again.”

Kevin chuckles. “Of course,” he lies. “Now can I please have the phone? We need to call Raymond, just in case he still doesn’t have any clue about what’s going on.”

Jake tosses him the phone from his pocket. Kevin presses on the contact, and this time Raymond picks up faster. 

“Hello Raymond, this is your husband Kevin,” he starts.

“Kevin? What seems to be the problem now? I was assured that the police had dealt with Murphy’s men.”

“Nothing has been dealt with, Raymond.”

“But-”

Jake curses. “Murphy has men in the NYPD, of course he would fuck with the call and everything.” 

Kevin relays what Jake has said. Raymond sighs, “Of course. Can you put Jake on?” 

“Can it wait? Cause I’m- yep, we’re being chased right now. And they’re pulling out guns.” The mirror on his side cracks, a wisp of smoke coming from where the bullet has lodged itself in. Jake swears again. “Yep.”

“Head to the precinct. I’m calling sergeant Jeffords now.”

The line goes dead. Kevin puts the phone down just in time to see more bullets fly by them, some hitting the back of the car. 

“Can I borrow your gun, Jake?” Kevin asks.

Jake gives him a look, sighing. “Be careful.”

“They won’t shoot me. Murphy wants me alive,” Kevin says, rolling the window down. “Keep driving.”

“You can shoot and not kill someone,” Jake says.

Any shot is a lethal shot.

Kevin doesn’t reply, leaning outside and letting himself enjoy the wind blowing at his hair for one moment before raising his gun and aiming.

Their windshield spider-cracks as Kevin presses the trigger again and again, trying to break through the glass the whole way. 

There are still bullets firing at the car, but not at him, and Kevin grins. 

As long as they don’t break the car before the NYPD comes, Jake and him will be good. In the meantime, Kevin keeps shooting, his smile growing wider with every shot. His hands are perfectly still even when Kevin knows another version of him would be shaking like a leaf right now.

Gently press, bang. Gently press, bang. Gently press- 

The sudden loud siren interrupts his flow, and Kevin has never been happier to see the red and blue lights flashing on the street. The cars are approaching, and Kevin quickly ducks back in the car. 

“Oh finally,” Jake mutters. 

“Took them long enough,” Kevin says, locking the safety and placing the gun back down. 

He adjusts the rearview mirror, watching as the police cars get closer, and then everyone slowing down as Murphy’s men stop the car in the middle of the street. The mirror doesn’t offer him a good enough view, but he can see enough to tell what’s happening.

They don’t put up a fight, letting the police cuff them and escort them to a van that’s parked a few feet away. It’s rather anticlimactic, Kevin thinks, watching the capturing process.

It's only after the van has driven away that he lets himself slump back into his seat. Jake does the same, although there’s a satisfied smile on his face.

They've made it.

Kevin can’t believe it. It’s almost too good to be true.

He was expecting a hysterical reaction, maybe laughing, maybe crying but instead there’s just a strange calmness that washes over his mind and body. And at the same time, it’s a cocktail of emotions- god he wants a drink. 

He deserves a drink after all of this, really.

“Kevin?”

Right, Jake is still here. And later Kevin will also have to talk to the officers in charge, procedure and paperwork and all of that that needs to be dealt with. There’s still so much to be done.

For now though, he draws another shaky breath, enjoying this moment of well-deserved victory. “Sorry,” Kevin says.

“No no, it’s fine- I know it’s weird,” Jake starts, patting Kevin’s back. “This must be your first time in one of these. Honestly, just let the emotions run their course.”

Kevin holds back an inappropriate giggle at Jake’s comforting words. This must be your first time, god. “I’ll be fine,” he says, reaching for the handle and opening the door.

“I know,” Jake hesitates, but he copies Kevin’s movement, getting out of the car too. “Just, take it easy, you know?” 

He nods. He thinks Jake’s giving him another concerned look, but right now he’s not focused on Jake. Not when they’re merely a short distance away from the yellow tape that has been put up, marking the parameter.

Kevin half wants to approach the area, just to see the car, maybe to admire the crack on the windshield. Jake, on the other hand, sprints over with no second thought, and he watches as Jake all but tackles Amy down in his attempt to hug her.

The rest of the 99th surrounds Jake quickly, and Kevin loses sight of his detective just that easily in the midst of people. It’s nice, Kevin thinks, this little reunion. 

It’s nice to see Jake back where he belongs with his make-shift family, to see him happy.

“Kevin.”

Now Kevin realises that one person is missing from the group hug that’s happening. He wonders how long Raymond has been standing there, right next to him. “Raymond,” Kevin acknowledges, turning over and looking at him, taking in the more than ruffled appearance. “I’m sorry for interrupting your meeting.”

“Out of everything, that’s what you're focused on?” Raymond asks. He looks alarmed now, and it doesn’t mix well with the already worried look he has. 

Kevin shrugs, leaning into the crook of Raymond’s neck, sighing. Raymond’s arms immediately move, wrapping around Kevin and embracing him.

Raymond’s shaking.

He’s so tired, too tired to deal with anything, but Kevin hugs him back anyway. His finger traces patterns and words onto Raymond’s back in a way that he knows will calm Raymond down.

He’s crying too, for no good reason. Tears are just flowing down his cheeks, and his vision blurs. 

Reality is settling in now, Kevin realises through the haze. Reality of a tomorrow. So he can’t say it’s for no good reason anymore, because he’s still here, Raymond’s still here and Jake’s still here. 

That’s a good reason to cry, he thinks, hugging Raymond harder. 

“Let’s get you home,” he thinks he hears Raymond say at some point. It sounds off. There is something else behind the simple statement, a hidden truth of sorts but he’s just too tired to care so Kevin nods mutely. 

His eyelids are getting heavy, independent of any oncoming death or drug. Kevin’s actually looking forward to a good sleep now, in his own bed, perhaps with Raymond by his side. 

“Of course I will be,” Raymond says. He must have said his thoughts aloud then, and that usually only happens when he’s on the edge of passing out. “Yes, it does.”

“Shush,” Kevin half-heartedly mutters. “Stop replying to my subconscious thoughts.”

Raymond chuckles. “Close your eyes. I’m here,” he says, and Kevin nods again, letting himself drift off but not away, not with Raymond anchoring him right now.

### Notes:

So, that was a whole ass fic huh? Tbh I was not expecting for it to get that out of hand when I first started this, but self control machine broke and here we are.

We, being me, you the amazing reader who decided to click on this and then finished it, and who I hope enjoyed that not so little read and my amazing beta without whom this fic would not be what it is, Leaf. She put up with way too much (my writing at 3am, the absolute tense fuckery, my general rambling) throughout all of this so just, massive props to her rly.

Also a special message from Leaf: Fuck the specific line of "Good oranges, nice and dry. Not at all ripe."

(Also also we are including Nic Cage who plays the largest role in this fic, the absolute MVP that he is. I now know too much about his movies and whether that is a good or a bad thing is to be determined, but it's for the greater good.)

If you’ve been following me on tumblr, you’ve probably heard of a Writer’s Commentary version of this. I can’t post it yet, seeing how it’s not all finished so in the meantime, have some brief rambling: Any additional questions you might have, you can wait for a day or two or just head on over to my tumblr [@onemilisec](https://onemilisec.tumblr.com) :D I post things about my writing and sometimes I post art, sometimes.

Anyway, on with the short-ish ramble.

Starting with some fun car chase things! Writing action scenes has always been hard, writing car chase scenes is a new level of fuck you. Again, a thank you to my beta (and her taxi driver) for letting me know that oh yeah you fuck with the bottom of the car and it will just not go and to shift to clutch when that does happen or else you will just stop instantly instead of slowly decelerating. And if there's anything you should learn from the car chase, it's that you should wear your seatbelt.

Now, the most notable thing that happened during the car chase is, well, Kevin getting shot through the head. It was also interesting, writing near death and then actual death experience.

I definitely pulled from several sources of other people's experiences, so it was a nice mix matching at the end. And then after that, Kevin.... I'm not quite sure what word to use, but he visits a place (pending name the waiting room.)

Now, I can't actually look up people's death experiences (well, there are people who are dead for a bit and then come back, but shhh) so I figured coma is the next best thing to go for. And this really stood out as an experience out of the ones I read, so cheers Reddit.

After that we have the concept of injury lingering! I see your “I wake up from every loop well rested and perfectly fine” and I raise you “your actions have consequences, both body and memory wise.” The perfect recipe for whump and the perfect opportunity for me to pull up specific medical infos while discarding some others (hence the selective medical accuracy tag. On that note I’m sorry to anyone who actually knows these things, but at the same time, not so much. Selective.)

I would love to go more into it, but I’m anything but qualified to, sooooo¬¬¬

This author note is also getting way too long, so I think I’m going to wrap this up here. As a final parting note: once again, thank you for giving this a chance and finishing this not-so-light read. I hope you like it, and until next time :)

  


  


[Verschränkung](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Erwin_Schr%C3%B6dinger), [highstakesrussianroulette](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quantum_suicide_and_immortality#History), [Rhinoceritis](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eug%C3%A8ne_Ionesco#The_full-length_plays), and [Caligon](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caligula_\(play\)) as well as 6 guests left kudos on this work!  (collapse)

Comment as You

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What's the date today? What's the date today? What's the date today?

  
  
  


10000 characters left

  1. #### 

[Verschränkung](https://kishdoodles.tumblr.com/post/630969010031296512/ok-but-one-sneaky-catman-elias-b4-i-sleep-gnight) Sun 18 Oct 2020 02:18AM BST

[](https://kishdoodles.tumblr.com/post/630969010031296512/ok-but-one-sneaky-catman-elias-b4-i-sleep-gnight)

> This fic both feels long and short at the same time! Great work :3c

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  2. #### 

[Caligon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4JGdR2lmyPE) Sun 18 Oct 2020 04:13AM BST

[](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4JGdR2lmyPE)

> Your fic reads very good! But if you want my opinion...all that's a bit boring yk

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  3. #### 

[reunahana](/users/reunahana) Sun 18 Oct 2020 05:32AM BST

[](/users/reunahana)

> What's the date today?

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  4.     1. #### 

[limin](/users/limin) Sun 18 Oct 2020 06:01AM BST

[](/users/limin)

> Sunday the 18th? You can just look at the comment and it will give you the date dude... Or just your phone or sth.

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    2.       1. #### 

[reunahana](/users/reunahana) Sun 18 Oct 2020 05:33AM BST

[](/users/reunahana)

> What's the date today?

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      2.         1. #### 

[limin](/users/limin) Mon 19 Oct 2020 07:36PM BST

[](/users/limin)

> Monday the 19th. Yk, t o m o r r o w ?
> 
> Is this a joke or sth?

##### Comment Actions

        2.           1. #### 

[reunahana](/users/reunahana) Sun 18 Oct 2020 05:34AM BST

[](/users/reunahana)

> What's the date today?

##### Comment Actions




  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The tenth time, Kevin wakes up relaxed.

The room is a muted darkness around him with almost little to no light, but from what he can see through half-lidded eyes, some silvery light has still somehow found its way in, creeping through the window blinds.

It’s slightly cold, and Kevin snuggles closer into his pillow, sighing.

His brain is still fuzzy, not quite working just yet. Usually Kevin hates that, but right now he embraces the lightness he’s feeling, never before knowing how comfortable the sensation is.

Eventually the high loses its novelty, and Kevin shifts, turning until he’s lying straight on his back, stretching slightly. His shoulders and back make a few noises, the tension from god knows how many actual days melting away slowly and surely.

It’s Monday the 19th.

He hates Monday: his students are always so tired, especially the ones he has for the first period too early in the morning and Kevin can’t say that he blames them.

Then when he was in the safe house, Monday lost its meaning, and the only way Kevin could even tell which day was which was based on Raymond’s visiting schedule. Even that was shuffled up every month as a precaution.

Right now though, Kevin loves it, loves the feeling of a new day that wakes him up in a way no cup of coffee shared with Jake could. 

His hand moves up, wiping the sleep from his eyes and Kevin lets his vision get used to the darkness until he can vaguely see the white ceiling with-

What?

No.

No no no.

That doesn’t make sense- 

Kevin shoves that dawning realization, that growing horror, as far down as he can. It doesn't go far, sticking in his throat and he wants to-

The clock beeps softly, and the sound is somehow too loud, deafeningly loud. Or is that his heart that’s beating too fast in his chest? Whatever it is, it’s too much, too sudden.

He can’t do this. He doesn’t want to. He got everything correct.

“Come out the coast. We’ll get together…”

Kevin shoves his fist in his mouth, biting down until his fingers hurt from where the teeth are digging in, trying to stop the sobs from breaking out. The roaring in his ears is subsiding, and now he can hear Jake shifting and talking in his sleep and he can’t-

“Have a few laughs,” Jake finishes, giggling.

It’s too much. He craves for it to stop, craves for the nothingness and the silence and the peace and anything else but here-

Kevin has half the mind to at least be quiet as he gets out of bed, though it’s hard to say if he actually succeeds in that regard. He doesn’t know how he does not break into a mad dash downstairs, his steps measured if not too slow. He’s swaying, and Kevin grabs onto the handrail, near slumping against it.

His legs are carrying him somewhere. No, Kevin knows where they- where he’s going and soon enough he’s kneeling on the floor, breathing heavily.

He fumbles with the cupboard, trying to control his shaking hands enough to wrench the correct drawer open.

And then they don’t shake anymore, not when they’re wrapped around the gun, his trigger finger finding its way to the side of the gun with such ease that it feels like he’s meant to do this.

Sobbing is a considerably harder task to do when the barrel is in his mouth, forcing it wide open until his jaw aches.

Kevin straightens up, breathing through his nose. There’s silence around him now, and if he focuses he can hear the wind blowing outside or the footsteps from upstairs.

But it’s not the right kind of quiet.

It’ll be fine, he thinks. He just has to listen to one last ear-splitting, piercing noise before he can get the silence that he needs.

His finger moves to the trigger, and Kevin gently presses down.

* * *

The not-eleventh time, Kevin wakes up confused.

He usually doesn’t wake up in the middle of the night, at… 2:24 AM according to the alarm clock that’s casting red light on Jake’s sleeping face. There’s no apparent reason for this either, and though the light headache might be responsible, that’s still a reach.

He can barely feel the ache, really.

So Kevin shrugs, rolling back to his side and shifting closer to his pillow, making himself comfortable. Sleep comes back easily, and soon enough he drifts off to the background noise of Jake’s shifting and mumbling.

The next time Kevin wakes up, it’s at a more reasonable time. A stray ray of sunlight has managed to find its way inside through the blinds, shining right into his eyes.

He brings his hand up, blocking the annoyance off.

The clock displays 8:30 AM this time, Sunday the 18th. Kevin lets himself lay there for a moment, enjoying the silence before he makes a move to get up. Jake’s still sleeping, and he makes a point to keep the noise down as he walks out, closing the door gently behind him.

Kevin goes through his morning routine on autopilot with the nagging sensation that he’s forgetting something. Which is ridiculous: he’s in the safe house, has been in here for over 2 months, there’s nothing to remember. If anything there’s too much to forget, like all the movies he’s watched, or just the general experience of this hellmouth.

It’s 9 when Jake stumbles downstairs, murmuring a good morning in Kevin’s direction. Minutes later Jake drops himself on the sofa next to him, a bowl of cereal in hand and a spoon in another.

Kevin doesn’t pay much mind to Jake, minding his own business which happens to be trying to recall the Iliad word for word. He really should have bought a few books with him to the safe house.

He could have asked Raymond to bring him a selection from their library.

Could have, of course.

He stops his attempt at remembering the Iliad when it’s clear that all of his lines of thinking will just lead down the unpleasant route that is Raymond. Some days Kevin really just wants to turn his brain off, to at least pretend that he doesn’t have all the time in the world to ponder things he tries not to think about too much, like the cruel existence of life or the slow deterioration of his and Raymond’s relationship.

“Jake, a movie, if you wouldn’t mind?”

Jake looks at him, the spoon still in his mouth. He swallows quickly, giving Kevin a big grin that’s almost convincing enough to hide the concern in his eyes before scrambling to his Nicolas Cage collection, flipping through the DVDs.

Soon enough the silence of the safe house is replaced with the opening scene of Snake Eye, and Kevin lets the horrible writing and acting distract him for however long this disaster of a movie is. Jake seems glad to be watching Nicolas Cage again though, the only positive thing that’s happening in this hellmouth right now.

Jake’s in the middle of saying another line by Nicolas Cage when someone knocks on the door. 

Well, Kevin says someone, but the correct knocking pattern clearly indicates that it’s Raymond. Suddenly Snake Eye is a much better movie, one that he would love to continue without any interruptions.

“I’ll get it,” Jake mutters, crawling to the entrance. Kevin sighs, reaching for the remote and turning the tv off before getting comfortable. 

The carpeted floor feels wrong with every touch. He sits there anyway, staring at the black screen, at his reflection that’s staring back and barely acknowledging Raymond when he and Jake return.

Raymond offers both of them some oranges. He holds one out in Kevin’s direction, waiting for god knows how long before dropping his hand back down. He merely leaves the bag of oranges in the middle, and it isn’t until then that Kevin reaches out to get one for himself and toss one over to Jake.

It’s a nice tangy taste, he thinks, popping another piece into his mouth.

“Good oranges, nice and dry,” Raymond says, holding a piece up and inspecting it. “Not at all ripe.”

“Fascinating,” Kevin mutters. And once he starts, the words just keep coming out. “My orange is beginning to rot. That happens when you leave an orange sitting around for too long and refuse to even let that orange go to a library for two hours so it can feel like a real orange again.”

It’s such a bad way of putting it. The writer in Kevin is screaming, but even that is drowned out by Raymond’s look at him.

“You know what really causes an orange to go bad?” he asks, and doesn’t wait for an answer, continuing right away. “Getting shot. Have you seen what a bullet does to an orange?”

“I shot a watermelon once. It’s exactly what you want it to be,” Jake unnecessarily adds, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “I miss Amy.”

“You think I enjoy doing this? I assure you, I do not. I’m simply trying to keep my husband alive.”

Maybe it’s the conversation itself, maybe it’s Raymond’s tone of voice, maybe it’s the title - my husband - that snaps something in Kevin. “Well,” he starts. “You may not have a husband when all of this is over.”

“You’re not going to die, Kevin,” Raymond says matter-of-factly, misunderstanding his point entirely. Isn’t that what all of their conversations have been though, misunderstandings on top of misunderstandings? 

“That’s… not what I meant.” He looks at Raymond, watching his reaction in real-time.

It’s exactly what Kevin wants it to be.

He regrets starting this fight immediately.

Raymond puts the plate down. “I’m leaving,” he says. “This is an absurd conversation and you’re being ridiculous.”

Kevin watches as Raymond crawls out of the room. Moments later the sound of the door opening echoes through the silence, followed quickly by it closing.

Beside him Jake lets out a breath. He shifts, turning over to Kevin. “You know what? Screw this,” Jake says. “We need a break. I’m a cop, I can protect us. We’re going to the library!”

His first reaction is to agree with Jake’s ridiculous plan. He does need a break, and the library sounds like heaven compared to everything else that’s happening around him right now. 

And Kevin almost says yes.

Instead something nags at him, clawing at his mind instantly. 

“You heard Raymond,” Kevin sighs, turning away to avoid looking at whatever Jake’s reaction might be. “Let’s just...finish one of your movies.”

Jake’s quiet for too long. Kevin pretends to not know what's bothering Jake.

Instead he leans back, closing his eyes, letting his mind drift away just for a moment, until he’s needed again.

Well, that rarely happens in this safe house anyway. Raymond can just leave him here like- no, stop. Kevin counts the seconds, syncing up his breathing to a rhythm and letting that be his focus instead of, well. 

In the background, the movie continues, Jake obviously having caved in.

And in the background, someone knocks on the door. 

Kevin opens his eyes, sitting up straighter and exchanging a look with Jake. It’s not the correct pattern, not obviously so. It’s too close to be a coincidence, and if it weren’t for the last three beats falling out of line, he would have assumed that it’s Raymond again.

Jake brings a finger to his lips, in a shushing movement. Kevin nods.

He watches as Jake walks to one of the cupboards, opening the drawer and pulling out a gun. He checks the ammunition, nodding to himself before slowly making his way to the door.

Kevin doesn’t know what he expects Jake to do, but it’s certainly not standing right next to the door, waiting. The knocking persists on for several more minutes.

It quiets down. Then there’s that distinct and more precise sound of metal turning, and from where he sits he can see the handle inching up and down before turning down all the way, almost too easy.

The door opens, and Jake fires. 

It happens too fast for Kevin to properly register the inbetween, but what he knows is the final result: Jake’s blood spattering on the wall as his body slides down, and one of Murphy’s men pointing a gun at Kevin’s head, between his eyes while the others get sent to check the house over.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t dare to, and then belatedly Kevin realises that even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. Fear paralyses him, holding him still in place.

“Don’t play any fucking funny tricks.” He moves the gun even closer and closer still until Kevin can feel the coldness of the barrel against his skin. “Or else you’ll end up like that cop over there. Understood?”

He gulps. “I’ll cooperate,” Kevin manages to choke out. He tries not to think about Jake’s corpse laying there.

His traitorous brain decides to hone on what visible parts of Jake he can see, and the rest are left up to his imagination.

Have you seen what a bullet does to an orange?

They won’t keep him at the safe house. Which means Kevin will have to be moved at some point, and that means going through the main entrance and in however long he can look at Raymond’s face and answer yes to his question.

If he will ever see Raymond again, that is.

Kevin doesn’t know whether to be grateful that one of them has injected something into him, a sedative of sorts that will surely knock him out. He hates being in the unknown, but at the same time he just won’t have to think about anything, and he’s feeling more and more tired as the seconds pass and…

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Kevin wakes up to water being splashed at his face, some getting into his mouth and he leans forward, coughing it out. Everything is blurry around him, not even the concrete floor he’s staring at is in focus and may even be spinning. 

Everything is definitely spinning when he gets yanked up by the hair until Murphy’s looking directly at him with a satisfied grin on his face. 

“Nice nap?” The rope digs into his wrists and his body as Kevin tries to move away from the grip, and Murphy gives a mocking laugh, letting him go. “Oh come on, you know resistance won’t do you any good, right? Aren’t you supposed to be smart?”

He stills his movement. Murphy smiles, patting his head.

“That’s better, isn’t it?”

“What do you want?” he manages to get out, and Murphy tuts at him.

“Where’re your manners?” he asks, pulling out a phone from his pocket and typing something into it.

“Gone the moment you drugged me.”

“Stop being so dramatic, it wasn’t even dangerous. The worst thing that can happen is you getting stuck in dreamland longer than expected, and honestly? I wish I had told them to up the amount.”

Kevin scoffs, turning his gaze away and looking around the warehouse instead. “What do you want?” he repeats.

Murphy sighs. “I want you to shut up, before I make you shut up. One more unprompted word and I’m putting a bullet through you.”

Kevin snaps his mouth closed. Murphy presses down on his phone, bringing it up to his ear and waiting.

“Hello Raymond,” Kevin hears. “How is it going?”

Murphy’s looking at him with a smirk as he continues to speak into the phone. “To talk, obviously. How’s Kevin?”

An entire one-sided conversation between Murphy and Raymond plays out, and Kevin wants to be anywhere else but here.

“Impatient. I have an offer to make, if you’re interested,” Murphy says, then chuckles. “No no, you fucking with me is what got us here. But like I said, my door’s always open if you want to do business. And it is very open right now.”

Kevin tests the rope that’s tying his wrists together right now. It burns and cuts into his skin with any movement, and he frowns.

“You’re not even going to hear what I have to say? Rude, Raymond.”

Murphy walks closer to him, leaning down until they’re at eye level. 

“I have Kevin.”

Raymond’s sharp intake of breath is audible through the phone at this close a distance. Then Kevin can only assume that Raymond has fallen quiet as Murphy keeps staring at him with that infuriating grin of his.

Then Murphy moves the phone closer to him, prompting him to speak.

“Hello Raymond,” Kevin follows the unspoken order. His voice shakes, and he takes a deep breath, hoping that will help somewhat.

The silence stretches out even more after his words. Murphy brings the phone back up, tapping his feet against the concrete floor. “You coming here, alone. No backup, no weapon, nothing,” he says. “If I see any of your precious cops with you, Kevin’s a goner. The moment I think you’re scheming, Kevin’s a goner. I said this once and I will say it again, Raymond, don’t you even think about screwing with me.”

Murphy ends the call, rolling his eyes and slipping the phone back in his pocket. Kevin watches as he gestures something to the goons standing around the warehouse, before Murphy walks out of the warehouse, leaving him alone.

Kevin takes the time to take an actual proper look around the warehouse. There are three men that he can see, leaning against the wall. One of them he recognises as the one holding a gun to his head.

Beside that, the warehouse is bare. There’s nothing, absolutely nothing to focus on. 

And there’s nothing that he can do besides wait for… for something. He doesn’t have a clue about what might happen next, and Kevin hates that.

An hour or so later by his count, maybe give or take a few minutes, Murphy walks back with a grin on his face. He looks happier, considerably so compared to the last time Kevin saw him.

There’s another set of footsteps following behind Murphy.

Raymond walks in, and Kevin bites the inside of his cheek to keep from making any sounds, doesn’t want to give any obvious outward reaction, not when Murphy has stopped walking, now standing behind him with a hand in his hair again.

Murphy pulls his head back, and then seconds later there’s a knife to his throat.

Kevin holds his breath, trying not to panic.

“What do you want?” Raymond asks, straight to the point.

“I told you. You mess with my family, I mess with yours.” Kevin can’t see it, but he knows Murphy’s having that grin on his face again. “Here’s what's going to happen. You are going to let my boys here tie you down with no resistance, and maybe I will let your husband live.”

“Let him go, Seamus. This is between you and me.”

“You’re the one who crossed that line first.” Murphy presses down, and the blade breaks through skin. Kevin hisses at the sudden jolt of pain. “Take. A. Seat.”

There’s the sound of a chair scraping against the floor, and Kevin can only assume that Raymond’s following Murphy’s order. “Good boy. See, that wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

The blade hasn’t stopped cutting into him, getting deeper every second. Realistically, Kevin knows the chances of him actually dying from this and this alone are not that high.

The fact is simply not registering. His hands are shaking, the rope’s the only thing stopping it from getting worse. 

“Now that you are nice and secure, I have another offer to make.” Murphy removes the knife from his neck, cleaning the blade on his shirt as he continues. “We have your husband here, about to die one way or another… And we have your squad out there. Oh, don’t look so surprised, of course I know. Who do you think I am, some amateur? No no, I got eyes everywhere here Raymond. And I also got guns everywhere here.”

“Absolutely not,” Raymond immediately replies.

“Is that so?” Murphy asks. And before he even knows what’s happening, before his brain catches up to the current events that are happening, before everything, there’s pain.

“KEVIN!”

“Are you gonna hear me out now, Raymond?”

If Kevin had more awareness of the situation around him, he would have noticed the rushing of footsteps outside. 

“Yes! Yes, please, stop.”

He doesn’t, not when everything is ripping and tearing and he’s writhing in his seat, unable to do anything to alleviate it. It isn’t even the rope that’s stopping him, it’s the pain itself that prohibits anything else except being in pain.

“Stop, huh?”

There’s something else too, something smooth and cold against his temple.

And then there’s no more pain.

* * *

The eleventh time, Kevin doesn’t think he will wake up.

At least, not right away, not so fast, so suddenly. One second he was kneeling in the living room, a gun down his throat, the absolute feeling of euphoria that came with pressing the trigger hugging him close — 

Kevin was expecting nothingness after that.

— But the next second here he is, laying on his back. The white ceiling with that stain stares back at him, mocking him, and Kevin almost wants to scream. Almost.

Instead of the nothingness that he craves (or maybe not so much anymore) it’s resignation that sets in. He can’t tell which he prefers at this point. 

Kevin gets up.

His movement is stiff, his actions have a certain delay to it. He supposes that it’s fair, something had to give after he put a bullet through his head after all. Kevin can deal with it for however long it decides to linger.

Not that long, he finds. By the time he makes it downstairs, there’s almost nothing left but the constant ache at the back of his head, reminding him of the failed attempt.

Kevin shrugs on a jacket, pauses, goes back and goes through the pockets until he finds Jake’s wallet. A tracker is in there, he knows, but something in him just couldn’t care less about it at the moment. 

Something in him just simply couldn’t care less about anything at all, really. What’s the point? He tried, he failed, and now Kevin’s just too tired to care to try again. Instead he stuffs the wallet in his pocket and opens the door.

He has a few hours before anyone even thinks about checking the tracker’s location. Two months (and a bonus...eleven? twelve? days for him) has surely changed them both, but Kevin’s confident about Raymond’s sleeping schedule. There is plenty of time until the sun rises, enough for him to ditch the wallet somewhere and get far enough away from it.

It’s cold outside.

It feels good outside. He can see the sky for once, the moon and stars mixed with the heavy air traffic of New York. Kevin gives himself a moment to just enjoy the fresh air, enjoy the night sky until his neck complains from leaning back.

From there it’s easy to wave down a cab. Kevin gives the first address that comes to mind, Columbia, and the driver steps on the pedal without any additional questions. The car ride is silent, and for that he’s grateful.

He leans against the window, watching the scenery blur together as the taxi takes him through New York. For a moment he contemplates just leaving the wallet in the car, that would surely throw Raymond for a loop, but he stops himself at the last minute. The driver definitely doesn’t deserve that.

Kevin takes out all the bills, rolls down the window and throws the wallet out. 

It takes longer than he thought, getting to the university. He pays the fee easily, closing the door and watching as the taxi speeds off, leaving him alone in front of the gates. 

After two months of being stuck in the safe house, and days of being stuck in the same day, the taste of freedom is almost a foreign concept. Now there’s nothing stopping him from enjoying the night for all it's worth before he gets captured or found. 

Whichever comes first, really.

Before all of that though, he needs a drink.

His steps bring him to a small bar, one Kevin doesn’t go to that often but Vivian loves, which means he gets dragged here against his will every now and then. There are not that many people inside right now, just enough that the background talking is the right level of quiet, mixing with the background tune. 

He walks up to the bar. The service is fast, and minutes later he’s seated in a comfortable seat, a Blood and Sand in his hand. The drink goes down smoothly, sweet enough for his taste and Kevin lets out a satisfied sigh.

God, he did need that. He really did.

The background tune continues on loop, lulling him into a relaxed state of mind that is rare these not-days. Kevin figures he can just relax here for the next hour or so, or at least until he’s pleasantly buzzed from the alcohol.

The note of the scotch shines through more at his second sip. Scotch doesn’t sound like a bad option either, and well, he has time and money to burn.

When Kevin places his order, he doesn’t expect for Murphy to waltz up next to him, asking for the same.

“Hello Kevin,” he says. The bartender places the two glasses of whiskies down, and Murphy picks his glass up.

At this point he really is not surprised that Murphy has somehow found him first. “Murphy,” Kevin greets easily. He smiles at the bartender as they place the last part of his order down, a glass of water with a small straw, saying a quick thank you. “Come on, let’s get seated.”

“After you,” Murphy says, allowing him to lead them back to his original table. He makes himself comfortable next to Kevin, holding his glass up and lightly swirling the contents inside.

“Do you want some?” Kevin asks.

“Water?”

“With your whisky, yes.”

Murphy blinks at him. “If I wanted it like that I would have just gotten ice.”

“No, nothing like that,” Kevin says, bringing the water up and taking a quick sip. Still, not hot or cold, that’s good. “It will be fun.”

He uses the straw to carefully add a few drops of water in his glass. Murphy mutters something beside him, before he too holds up his glass to Kevin. “Why not?” he says, and Kevin gives him a smile, doing the same thing.

“Slainte,” he cheers, holding his glass out. Murphy echoes, clinking their glasses together.

The liquor burns, packing a certain punch that’s exactly what Kevin needs right now. The normal drink is aggressive enough already, but with the added water it hits hard. There’s the leftover clingy feeling on his tongue as Kevin swallows, the whisky going down and warming him up.

Beside him Murphy coughs, violently so.

Kevin can’t help a chuckle, reaching over and patting Murphy on the back until he’s not hacking his lungs out anymore.

“You sure that was just water?” he gasps out, putting his glass back on the table. “That did not feel like that was just water.”

“Have you honestly never done that before?” Kevin asks, amused. Murphy shakes his head. “It was just water, yes.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Surprising what just a few drops of water can do, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” Murphy says, clearing his throat. “Also surprising that you’re out here at this hour. Actually I’m just surprised that you’re out in general.”

“And how did you know that I’m out and I’m here?”

“One of my people spotted you getting out of a cab.”

“At this hour, in Columbia?”

“There’s a thing going on right now. I’m glad you didn’t walk in there, actually, or you wouldn’t be here, injury-free.”

Kevin doesn’t bother asking what the thing Murphy might be talking about is. “Fair enough,” he shrugs, taking another sip, holding it there longer this time. It walks that line between unpleasant and pleasurable, the peppery taste that’s not overly done that it’s overly spiky. “So, what can I help you with?”

Murphy chuckles. “You’re awfully calm for someone in your position right now,” he points out.

It helps when this is at least your eleventh time waking up on the same Sunday the 18th, Kevin thinks. It helps when nothing really matters, not when the day will repeat itself despite his best efforts.

“I figure panicking wouldn’t do me any good,” he says simply.

“Smart.”

“Thank you.”

Murphy picks up his glass, looking at it with more caution this time. “So, what did you do with this, exactly?”

He’s avoiding the original question, deflecting and making small talk. That part is obvious. Now, why Murphy is doing this has a less obvious answer, but it’s also an answer that Kevin has no intention of trying to find out. “With the drink?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m curious.”

“There are some things that are water soluble here and there are other things that aren't water soluble, like oil.” Kevin holds up the glass. “This one, there's a lot of carbon and so there's a lot of oil. You add water, all the things that are water soluble are absorbed and all the things that aren’t try to escape the chemical reaction by going to the top of the glass.”

“Huh.”

“Interesting, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Murphy hums. “You know a lot about this.”

“I like looking into things,” Kevin answers. “If the reason you’re here is to kidnap me, do you mind waiting until I finish this?”

“Take your time.” 

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, slowly sipping on the whisky but it seems like it’s too long, considering the fact that Murphy’s letting him run on borrowed time right now. He’s still typing away on his phone when Kevin puts the empty cup down and leisurely stretches his arms.

“Murphy?” Murphy jumps, startled, and Kevin feels slightly guilty for knocking him out of whatever productive state he had found himself in. “Time for that kidnapping plan of yours.”

“You’re done?”

“Yeah. That and the bar’s almost closing. Best to get a move on,” Kevin answers.

Murphy nods, standing up and slipping his phone in his pocket. “Alright. I assume that you will cooperate and won’t put up a fight?”

Kevin shakes his head, pulling out some bills.

“Don’t worry. I’ve paid already.”

“Oh, in that case, thank you. You really didn’t have to,” Kevin says. “So, Ketamine? Benzodiazepines?”

“What?”

“You’re going to drug me, aren’t you?”

Murphy pauses. He’s staring at Kevin again. “You know a lot,” he partly repeats himself.

Kevin wonders if Murphy’s referring to the fact that he knows he’s going to get drugged or the fact that he knows about drugs in general. “Hard not to when you got really pushed into studying medicine by your mom who’s a surgeon,” he says, going with the second option. “Come on. You can at least walk me to the car before knocking me dead on my feet.”

That seems to knock Murphy out of his haze, and he nods slightly, hurrying over. Kevin lets an amused smile show as he falls into step with Murphy, the two of them walking through the streets.

The sun hasn’t risen yet, Kevin notes with surprise. It will soon: he can see strokes of red and yellow in the horizon but right now it’s that weird moment inbetween where nothing feels quite real.

Well, none of his days that still technically count as just one day feel real. He doesn’t feel real sometimes. 

Kevin shakes his head, stopping his thoughts and focusing on where Murphy’s taking him to instead. They stop in front of a white Rolls-Royce, Murphy pulling out his keys and motioning for Kevin to get into the other side.

He follows the direction, getting seated and strapping the seatbelt in.

Murphy hums, turning the key. The car comes alive, rumbling slightly. “So,” he starts, turning over to look at Kevin.

“So?” Kevin prompts.

“You are still cooperating with everything so far.”

“A brilliant observation, really.” 

“You know what I meant,” Murphy says. ”You have had plenty of chances to run.”

Why, Murphy’s asking. Why not? He settles on a shrug instead, leaning back against the soft seat of the car. “And you’ve had plenty of chances to capture me,” he shoots back. “You didn’t have to wait, didn’t even have to talk to me.”

“I didn’t,” Murphy agrees. He doesn’t seem to want to elaborate or continue the conversation, and Kevin gladly accepts the silence.

For the first few minutes of the ride, that is. Murphy keeps mumbling under his breath, numbers and statistics that are definitely not for Kevin’s ears and his kidnapper (can he even call Murphy that when Kevin went willingly?) seems stressed. 

Well, Kevin knows he’s stressed.

Maybe it’s the alcohol in his system, maybe it’s the curiosity that’s slowly becoming the main reason as to why he’s doing things, that gets Kevin to do something about it. 

“Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?”

The sheer surprise on Murphy’s face that quickly replaces the furrowed eyebrows from earlier almost makes Kevin giggle. It reminds him of not-days ago when Raymond walked in on him and Jake playing chess. “What?”

Kevin repeats the question, enjoying the surprise for however long it lasts. He doesn’t know if Murphy will simply brush him off and go back to his thinking or if he will actually answer, and that suddenly makes it all the more interesting. The unknown is interesting. 

Murphy’s eyebrows furrow again. For a moment he really thinks Murphy’s lost to the statistics, but then he asks, “Are we counting dead people?” 

“Why not?” Kevin hums. “Who do you have in mind?”

“Julius Caesar,” Murphy eventually answers. 

It’s a good answer, Kevin muses, making a note of the reply even if it’s just throwaway information. Maybe he can find a good use for it in the next loop. “Why?”

“I have always found him to be fascinating. And what about you?”

“Homer.”

“Who?”

“He wrote the Iliad and the Odyssey, to name a few,” Kevin clarifies. “I really just want to confirm some things about him.”

Murphy makes an understanding noise. “Right, classics professor.”

“Guilty as charged,” Kevin says. “Would you like to be famous? In what way?”

“What is this, 20 questions?” Murphy asks back. “Do you always talk to people who threaten your life and your husband’s?”

“I try not to make a habit of it,” Kevin answers. “And it can be 20 questions if you want. We can go back to the silence too if you want that. Honestly, you’re the one in charge here right now.”

Murphy keeps his eyes on the road. His fingers tap against the wheel as he continues to take Kevin to...where’s the warehouse again? Oak Ridge Parkway, isn’t it? “I do want to be famous, in the NY crime scene.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Kevin asks, amused. “Aren’t you already famous? What is it, the most brutal crime family in New York?”

“That’s how the cops are describing us now?” Murphy asks. “I guess in that way, I am. But I’m not like Jordan’s level of famous, or I guess in that case, infamous.”

“Jordan?”

“Ah, right. You wouldn’t know.”

“Explain then. We have plenty of time before we get to the warehouse.”

Murphy pauses. “And how do you know that?”

“Lucky guess that you just so happened to confirm for me,” Kevin replies smoothly. “It’s always a warehouse or a secret abandoned building, the list of cliché kidnapping locations goes on and on.”

“That is fair, I guess,” he mutters. “Jordan unofficially has control over everything that you can think of here. And not just here, god knows how far she has managed to branch out during the last few months.”

“Impressive. And you want the control?”

“I’ve worked my whole life off, and will continue to do so to get there. So yes.”

Dramatic, Kevin thinks. But also understandable for Murphy. “I’d say good luck, but you know.”

Murphy chuckles. “And you? Do you want to be famous?”

“In certain circles, sure. Being known for my research and my essays, for whatever contribution I make.”

“Not famous as in having your book be hailed a classic famous?”

“I’m not that good on that front, no. And while that idea has its merit, I would rather not. Many other people deserve that more than me.”

“Right, right,” Murphy says. “Why are you asking me these?”

“Bored,” Kevin says. “We both have time to kill, and you seem like you need it. Before making a phone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? If so, why?”

“If I’m talking to someone important, yes. What do you mean I seem like I need it?”

“You look like you need a distraction. Well, I suppose this whole thing: kidnapping me, threatening Raymond counts as a distraction too, but right now you’re just driving.”

He’s been staring at Murphy instead of looking outside, and right now Kevin watches as Murphy licks his lips, the tapping of his fingers increasing in speed. “Am I always that easy to read or is this just you?”

“In this case, it’s you.” In other cases that Kevin remembers, Murphy has been good at keeping his thoughts close to his chest, not showing anything. Well, he definitely shows that gleeful sadistic side when he gets to fuck around, but other than that.

He shudders at the memory of the intense look Murphy had directed (will direct) at him when he was tied to the chair.

“I see,” Murphy replies evenly. “And what about you?”

“What’s what about me?”

“The phone call question.”

That’s as close as Murphy’s going to get with agreeing to the fact that he really does need the distraction, which is fine by Kevin, really. “I don’t rehearse as much as I used to. What would constitute a perfect day for you?”

“A day off without me having to worry about keeping everything running. It has certainly been a while since that happened,” Murphy sighs. “You?”

A good book, a good cup of tea, the perfect lighting conditions. Cheddar asleep by his legs as he flips through the pages, marking down details. Brahm’s playing in the background. Raymond’s next to him, sharing the silence.

Simpler times, Kevin thinks. “Monday the 19th,” Kevin answers. “Tomorrow sounds good.”

“Is that an anniversary or something?”

“Not really, no. It’s just tomorrow.”

“I see,” Murphy hums. Kevin knows that Murphy doesn’t see it at all. “If Raymond plays his cards right, you won’t die here today, you know?” 

Murphy definitely doesn’t see it at all. “That’s hardly in my control, now is it?”

“But it is though. Raymond will listen to you, I imagine. He has already gone through the trouble of hiding you away in that little safe house.”

“Maybe,” Kevin gives in, just so they don’t have to continue that talk. He will worry about it when it happens. “When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?”

“When I drove over to pick you up. The radio late at night has some good songs.”

“And to someone else?”

Murphy shrugs. “Do you think I look like the type to sing to someone?”

“You can’t judge that kind of thing based on looks. I’ve seen worse people than you singing songs to others.”

“I somehow doubt that.”

“Which part?” Kevin asks. Murphy laughs softly. “Sing something for me?” he continues.

This time he really has caught Murphy off guard. Kevin would be more amused if he wasn’t more worried about the fact that the driver should not be looking like a deer caught in the headlights, especially when he’s also in the car.

He does not want another crash, thank you very much.

“I-”

“Apologies, that was too much to ask. Forget I did,” Kevin quickly corrects himself. “I didn’t mean to overstep anything.”

“You didn’t,” Murphy breathes out. “On the other hand, you are just full of surprises, aren’t you? In my personal experience, hostage situations don't turn out like this.”

“First time for everything,” Kevin says. First time that his kidnapping is going this way, even if this is the whatever time he has repeated this day.

Murphy hums again. It’s no longer his fingers that are tapping against the wheel in quick succession, rather Kevin sees specifically and purposefully spaced out hand formations that remind him of playing chords on the piano.

“My knees went out,” Murphy starts, his voice low with a gruff edge to it. The accent that Kevin has never actually managed to place the origins of is still there, just maybe not as pronounced. “The ground rushed in. The grass went dark and dizzy.”

He leans back on his seat, making himself comfortable.

“I did not stir, I did not dream. I did not dare to dare…I did not dare.”

The seat is really soft, Kevin notes. He’s tired, not from the looping this time. From waking up at around 2 and deciding the next best thing to do is to go to a bar and get drunk, and then getting into a car with Murphy to go to this warehouse. 

“The sunlight died and the ground got damp. I thought to pray to something,” Murphy sings, his voice slowly getting louder with every word, like he’s getting more comfortable, more into a rhythm that Kevin doesn’t know about. “I did not pray, I did not call out. I did not care to care...I did not care.”

Kevin’s eyes slip closed despite him forcing them to stay open.

He vaguely hears Murphy continuing, “You went and found my eyes again, in the fire light on the low,” and part of him really wants to stay awake until at least the end of the song. “I turn and find ten more like me, 

  
  


each one with his own song 

and you carefully

humming along

the stars came out

the sky made room

my heart dissolved to sugar

i did not breathe

i could not breathe

i did not move from there, love

i will not move from here

you went and found my eyes again, in the fire light on the low

i turn and find ten more like me

each one with his own song

and you carefully 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


humming along.”

Someone’s shaking him awake. Kevin blinks groggily, stifling a yawn. 

“Was it that bad?” Murphy asks.

Right, the song. “Oh. Sorry about that,” Kevin says.

“It’s fine.”

He can’t tell if Murphy actually means what he said or not. “You have a good voice,” he adds. “Shame I didn’t get to hear the rest of it.”

Murphy laughs. It’s not mocking, or at least the mocking is not directed at him. “Of course.” Before Kevin can object, Murphy’s already continuing. “We’re here. And from here I will need to tie you up. Precautions and all.”

“Right. Wrists behind my back?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Let me get out of the car first, and you can get the rope in the meantime.” Kevin opens the door, stepping out and taking in the scenery, or lack of in this case. The warehouse looks horrible. 

He moves his wrists back, shifting around to find a nice position that won't make his shoulders complain. By the time he hears footsteps approaching, Kevin has settled on a nice pose. 

The rope touches his skin, looping around. Kevin doesn’t flinch, just letting Murphy do his job. “All done.”

He gives a light tug, finding the rope not as tight as he thought it would be. Interesting. “So, shall we?” Kevin asks.

Murphy walks to the warehouse as his answer, and Kevin quickly follows.

It’s the same setting that Kevin has seen many times before, so he doesn’t bother taking a look around the place again. He does see Brian and his friends leaning against the wall though, one of them looking up when Murphy whistles.

Instantly there’s a chair quickly placed in the center of the warehouse, and Murphy gives Kevin a push on his shoulder. Kevin scowls slightly, nearly tripping without his hands to balance everything. He walks over, sitting down and letting the goon tie him down to the chair, frowning at the uncomfortable feeling.

He misses the bar already. The seats there were a lot softer.

Murphy pulls out his phone again, wasting no time and now Kevin knows what he’s typing into it. He counts the usual 3 seconds before Raymond picks up. 

“Hello, this is Raymond Holt speaking.”

“Hello Raymond,” Murphy says. He walks closer to Kevin, leaning on the chair as he continues. “How is it going?”

“Why are you calling me?”

“To talk, obviously. How’s Kevin?”

“Cut to the chase, Seamus.”

“Impatient,” Murphy tuts. “I have an offer to make, if you’re interested.”

“I'm not. Accepting an offer with you is what got us here in the first place,” Raymond says. 

Murphy chuckles at his words. “No no, you fucking with me is what got us here. But like I said, my door’s always open if you want to do business. And it is very open right now.”

“No.”

“You’re not even going to hear what I have to say? Rude, Raymond.”

“You don’t have anything that I need.”

“I have Kevin.”

Raymond’s sharp intake of breath is audible. Kevin waits, tapping his foot against the concrete floor as time flies by. “You’re lying,” Raymond says simply, almost desperately. He has definitely found the wallet that Kevin ditched then.

Murphy moves the phone closer to him, prompting him to speak. 

“Hello, Raymond,” Kevin complies.

The silence stretches out even more after his words.

“What’s your offer?”

“You coming here, alone. No backup, no weapon, nothing,” Murphy says. “And Raymond. I said this once and I will say it again, don’t you even think about screwing with me. If you do, well… Kevin will be the one paying for your mistake. And I’m sure you would not want that.”

“And what do I get?”

“The chance of seeing Kevin alive. Me letting your husband go, who knows?”

“When and where?” Raymond asks.

“Don’t ask stupid questions. I know you’re tracking the phone as we speak. And as for the when.” Murphy looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “You can take your sweet sweet time getting here, as long as you want. Just know that I will be spending that time with your husband.”

“Don’t hurt him-”

“Be here fast then,” Murphy cuts in before ending the call. Throughout that the guy has gotten another chair out, opposite to Kevin and Murphy sits down, leaning back with his arms behind his head. His legs are propped up on Kevin’s thighs. “That was fun.”

“You have an interesting definition of fun,” Kevin replies. 

“What can I say?” Murphy shrugs. “You learn to like it. Comes with the job.”

“Of course,” Kevin says. “Next you’ll say torturing people is also fun.”

“I would not go so far as to call it torture, but you have to admit, the power rush is addicting.”

He imagines himself in Murphy’s place, holding a knife to someone’s throat, just letting it lay there without necessarily breaking through the skin. He imagines himself making someone choose between their significant other and their family.

He remembers him holding a gun to Brian’s head, remembers how comfortable he felt holding it. 

Kevin shudders again, shaking the thought away. “Perhaps,” he replies.

Murphy doesn’t say anything more to the topic and they lapse into a silence, one that's neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. Murphy occasionally takes out his phone to do whatever he does, but most of the time he’s looking at Kevin. 

His intense gaze burns.

Kevin meets the look head-on.

“Say,” Murphy says, almost out of the blue if Kevin wasn’t also watching and seeing him fidget in his seat. “You never answered the question.”

“Which one?”

“The singing one.”

Kevin shrugs. “To myself, in the cab to Columbia. To Jake, at some point in the safe house,” he says. “How long has it been since you called Raymond?”

“Around 20 minutes. Why?”

“It will be a while more before he gets here, I imagine. If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?”

“Is this how you’re killing the time now?”

“Why not?”

“Body,” Murphy says. “Where are you getting these questions?”

“It’s from a study years ago that interested Raymond,” Kevin says. “And personally, I’d choose mind. Do you have a secret hunch about how you’ll die?”

“Two to the body one to the head,” Murphy answers easily without missing a beat. “You?”

“A round to the chest.” He smiles at Murphy. He wonders if his smile is coming across as sardonic right now. “I won’t hold it against you.”

“It’s nothing personal,” Murphy says. “But yes, that’s fair. Do you really think you will die here?”

“Most likely, yes. Do you really think Raymond will follow the deal?”

“No, that’s why I have more than four people here,” Murphy gestures vaguely to the rest of the warehouse. “Aren’t you afraid?”

“I used to be. Now? Not so much.”

“What gives?”

Kevin shrugs. “You wouldn’t believe me. I’m not asking for you to either.”

“Does it really matter?”

“I suppose not. The thing is, Murphy, nothing really matters.” He leans forward, and once again wonders what expression he's wearing that gets Murphy to lean back in apprehension. “You’re not afraid of death when death merely brings you back to the start of the day, Sunday the 18th.”

“What?”

Kevin laughs. “You don’t believe me,” he says matter-of-factly. “I don’t blame you for that either. It’s hard to take any of the words I said seriously.”

“I- What?” Murphy repeats himself.

“I’m not insane. Ask Brian or Trevor or Liam and… Yeah I have to admit, I really never actually got to know who the fourth one is.”

“Anthony,” Murphy distractedly fills in. “How- You- That’s impossible.”

“I literally just listed off your henchmen’s names,” Kevin continues. “I can tell you about your plan to dramatically slit my throat in front of Raymond before offering him another deal as you stab me in the shoulder too, if you want.”

“That’s how you knew about everything before this.”

There’s literally no point in denying anything at this point, so Kevin nods. “Yes.”

Murphy slumps back in his seat. He stares at Kevin, or maybe he’s just staring into space. Kevin can hear the cogs and gears turning as he tries to process this new fact, and he leaves Murphy alone to think everything over.

“...How many times have you been here?” His voice is strained.

“Enough to know how well it will end for me.” Kevin cocks his head, humming before continuing. “To be honest, I’m just telling you this so I can ask you to make my death, you know, painless. Nothing really matters but some things stay with you.”

“Explain.”

“When I woke up from a car crash everything hurt like hell and my vision was partially low. When I got shot the scar always stayed for a while. I could barely raise my hand up for over a minute because someone stabbed me in the shoulder.”

Murphy- well, he’s definitely confused and intrigued and maybe even a bit scared. Overwhelmed, actually, would be a good word to describe him. “You’re telling me this,” he starts slowly, testing the words out. “You’re telling me this so you can ask me to help you kill yourself.”

“In a way, sure.” Kevin gives him a grin with no humour behind it. “I’ve found that a bullet through the head only leaves a slight ache that has mostly faded by now.”

Murphy doesn't so much respond as he just blankly nods.

Overwhelmed is definitely the right word to describe him. He crosses and uncrosses his legs, shifting uncomfortably in his seat and now that Kevin’s staring at him, he finds Murphy’s eyes darting around, refusing to even look in his direction.

“No.” His tone is monotonous. “No, I’m _not_ going to kill you-”

“You were going to anyway,” Kevin cuts in easily. Too easily, too calmly. “Don’t act high and mighty now. You knew what your plan was, walking into the bar with a syringe filled with anesthesia to be jammed into my neck or shoulder or wherever.”

“Shut up.”

“You planned to kill me in front of Raymond, make him watch me suffer and die, and then kill him too. Sorry, I suppose I should say plan.”

“Shut up!”

Kevin’s smile widens. “What’s the difference? Where is the difference, Murphy? Does a few hours of talking with me change your mind that easily? What happened to the most brutal crime family in New York, to finding certain activities fun, to quote you?”

Murphy’s right, the power rush is addicting.

“It’s different and you know it,” Murphy grits out. “Shut up, Kevin, before I make you.”

“You have no problem saying that, but when I ask you to put a single bullet through my head you hesitate.”

It almost compares to the high of losing control, of sitting there tied to a chair with a gun pointing directly at his head, right between his eyes. Of knowing you’re that close to death.

Despite describing it as a high, right now he feels calm.

Kevin leans forward until the barrel touches his forehead.

“Shut me up then. I know you have it in you, it will just be so easy. I imagine this isn’t the first time someone's asked you to end it all, torture makes people say a lot of things just to end the pain.”

“You’re mad-”

“I’m perfectly in my right mind.”

Murphy draws a breath. “Ask me again,” he says.

“Would you be so kind as to shoot me?”

* * *

The twelfth time, Kevin wakes up with a headache. 

Murphy took the shot. A small smile makes its way across his face at that as he lays there for a moment, enjoying the muted darkness in the room that’s occasionally interrupted by the flashing red light of the alarm clock.

The satisfaction covers him like a blanket, and the smile stays there as Kevin gets up, making a point to be quiet lest he rouses Jake. 

Jacket, wallet, check.

Kevin pushes the door open, whistling a tune as he steps out and closes the door behind him. His mind is already flipping through what he wants to do today, hesitating between spending the whole day at the library rolling dice and picking random books based on the inferior DDC system or renting a car and driving to wherever, long as it’s not NYC. Connecticut maybe, it has been some time since he visited a friend, despite the rather short commute.

It doesn’t even have to be a visiting trip either. A trip with no purpose sounds, well, equally as amazing and appealing. He has more than enough money to rent a decent car, or he can just wait until Raymond goes to work to swing by the house and take his own.

Before that though, he has to get away from here first. Kevin waves a cab down, rattling off the address to Columbia before pausing. Going there would mean Murphy finding him, and he doesn’t know if he wants to deal with that today.

“Actually no, Prospect Park please,” Kevin corrects, taking out the bills from the wallet. He will throw it out when they’ve traveled for a long enough time, but for now he simply holds it in his hand, enjoying the texture.

The driver, the same person from last loop Kevin notes, nods. They’re a fast driver, and the scenery outside blurs together into coloured blobs that he watches if only because he has nothing better to do right now. 

After around thirty minutes of driving, Kevin rolls the window down and ditches the wallet. Around an hour and thirty minutes after that, the car stops. He pays the fees, getting out and closing the door behind him.

The taxi speeds off, leaving him alone at one of the entrances that’s closed right now. Perhaps he can just spend the day here too, walking around, watching the birds and visiting the various historical landmarks, gardens, and museums they have here.

That sounds good. It has been a while since he’s even come here.

It’s not hard to find another way in that’s not locked, and soon enough he’s walking down a random path, not really caring where it will lead him. It’s not like anything is open at this hour anyway, or Kevin at least thinks so.

The trees and the rustling of leaves keep him company well enough. Some ducks are paddling across the lake when he gets there, and Kevin sits down under one of the trees.

Beside nature moving around him, all is still.

It’s quiet.

He doesn’t realise he has dozed off until he wakes up to sunlight shining at him. The inky black water from before now catches the light, shimmering yellow and blue greeting him when Kevin opens his eyes.

Some ducks are walking just a few feet away from him. He looks at them for a moment before standing up, dusting off the dirt. His movement doesn’t phase them, and they merely watch as Kevin walks away from the lake.

It’s calm.

Bird watching has not lost its charm. Most of the morning is spent scouting the park, exploring the grounds again. It really has been too long since he visited the place.

He was right: it is a nice day to go out for a walk.

It’s relaxing.

He thinks about dropping by the museum or the botanic garden. Instead Kevin gets seated on a bench, the leaves doing a decent job of keeping the sunlight from shining directly down at him. 

It’s a light lunch, a sandwich with a bottle of water that doesn’t cost that much. Around him people are milling around, enjoying their time here. 

It’s peaceful.

He remembers a picnic with Raymond here. It could not have been that long ago, but when he thinks about anything before the safe house, it feels like it's been forever.

The sky’s not its bright blue anymore, rather shifting to orange and red as the sun sets. He’s back at the lake again, watching the ducks.

It’s boring.

He has had a nice day, a good day. There’s been no Murphy and no NYPD, no kidnapping attempt or gunfight. He’s worn out from doing nothing. 

And Kevin knows going to the library or renting a car to drive down to, he doesn’t know, Philadelphia or something would give him that same dragged out feeling.

It’s so boring, Kevin thinks as he feels sleep taking him.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

The thirteenth time, Kevin wakes up with that plagued boredom still clinging to him.

It’s weird, not liking the not-quite-yesterday. It doesn’t make any sense for him to not like it.

He has spent days like that before, and he has loved his time during those days. It should not have felt that dragged out, like he’s just waiting for time to pass and the day to end so he can move on already.

It should not.

It does.

Kevin frowns up at the white ceiling with the stain. 

He knows perfectly well why he feels like this of course. It’s obvious now, the impact the repeated day has on him. 

Once you have experienced...whatever this is, it’s hard to go back to the normal, the mundane. 

He also knows how to deal with it, at least in the short run. Well, short is relative in this situation, but Kevin’s sure he can think of some activities that only last one day after he’s finished with his current plan.

Kevin gets out of bed, heading to the living room and grabbing the gun. He doesn’t have a proper holster for it though, and he pauses, weighing the pros and cons.

Safety concerns aside, he does not really plan to shoot Murphy, probably. The idea though, that sounds satisfying in a weird way Kevin can’t explain.

He notes it down for later loops, and puts the gun back into the drawer, closing it easily. 

Jacket, wallet with the tracker that Kevin knows he can use to entertain himself at some point too, all check. All that’s left is waving a cab down and heading over to Columbia, which is one of the easiest things to do on his plan for the day.

The same driver is still quiet, and they trade no additional conversation besides Kevin first getting in and getting asked for where he wants to go. He pays the fee and gets out without much fuss, taking out the rest of the bills and leaving the wallet in front of the closed gates.

Kevin stands there for a minute or so, just to make sure whoever it was gets a clear look of him to report to Murphy. Then he heads to the same bar, and orders two Old Fashioneds: One for him to slowly enjoy, one for Murphy whenever he gets here.

The rich, foresty flavour hits on the first sip. He lets out a relaxed sigh, leaning back in his seat and enjoying the background tune mixed with the hushed conversation for all its worth.

He doesn’t know when Murphy actually walks through the door of the bar, but when Kevin does spot him, he raises his glass in Murphy's direction. This far away, he can’t see Murphy’s expression but a part of Kevin is sure that he’s surprised and confused.

When Murphy gets seated next to him, he’s proven correct.

“Hello, Murphy,” Kevin greets, sitting up straighter and motioning to the second drink. “The ice has melted down considerably at this point, but it’s still good. A sweet finish.”

“What?” Murphy asks, looking between him and the glass.

“Your drink,” Kevin clarifies. “If you don’t like it you can always order something else.”

“Right, of course,” Murphy mutters, picking the glass up and inspecting it under the dim light of the bar. “And what is this, exactly?”

“Old Fashioned.”

“I see. Do you usually order the same thing twice?”

“Not in particular, no. But since you’re here, might as well,” he answers. 

Murphy looks at him for another moment before he shrugs, taking a sip of the drink. Kevin watches as some of the tension leaves Murphy’s shoulders, the drink still firmly in his hand as opposed to being put down on the table again. 

“Thanks,” Murphy says, licking his lips. 

Kevin shrugs. “You’re welcome.”

Murphy’s still looking at him as Kevin takes another sip. “You’re awfully calm for someone in your position right now,” he points out almost slowly. Cautiously would perhaps be a better word. 

“I am.”

“Any reason why?”

“What else would I be?” Kevin asks coyly. “Panicking?”

“That’s the usual reaction, yes. Maybe even trying to get out of here as fast as possible, running away, you know?”

“You must have quite a reputation if all it takes for someone to panic and run away is for you to sit down next to them. And you haven’t even done anything else yet.”

Murphy chuckles. “And that sounds like you want me to do something.”

“Maybe after I finish my drink,” Kevin replies. “Then you can give me some of that anesthesia in your pocket and drag me to your car.”

He doesn’t need to glance over to know that Murphy is looking bemused right now. “And how do you know that?”

“It’s obvious, honestly.” It’s not, because right now if Kevin were to take a close look at Murphy he doubts he could spot the needle. “Still, if you could wait, that would be great, really.”

“Of course,” Murphy says blandly. “Take your time.”

He raises the glass at Murphy again, and this time Murphy clinks them together. “Thank you,” Kevin smiles. “Cheers.”

Murphy echoes the word, taking another long sip from his glass. This time he does put it down, instead pulling his phone out and typing with both of his hands.

Kevin’s content with leaving Murphy alone, at least until he finishes his own drink. Which does not take much longer, considering how long he must have been sitting here.

Should he order another? Murphy certainly has not finished anything: he’s still glued to the phone, tapping away frantically. His eyebrows are furrowed again, and a hand moves up to run through his already messy brown hair before quickly turning to where it was before, settling back into the tapping rhythm.

Kevin wonders what is causing Murphy that much stress. He would not be able to do anything about it of course, but it doesn’t mean that he’s not curious. 

Instead of asking for the content on the phone, he flips through his own list of questions, skipping through the next few just because they don’t quite fit the circumstances just yet. “If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?”

Murphy looks up from his phone. “I’m sorry, what?”

“If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be? Personally, I think invulnerability would be useful.”

“That so?”

Kevin hums, shrugging. “Not feeling any pain sounds good, doesn’t it?”

“On the surface, sure. But isn’t pain necessary?” Murphy asks. “It’s an important tool for survival. It tells you when to stop, when it’s too much.”

“It is and it does,” Kevin says. 

But still, wouldn’t it be better to wake up without the echo of his injuries from the last loop plaguing him? 

That, Kevin doesn’t say aloud. Not yet anyway, he has no reason to bring that fact up at this moment. “And what about you?”

“The ability to see possibilities.”

“Oh?”

“I guess it’s... predicting what the most likely outcome will be. That would certainly be very useful,” Murphy continues. “Just to know the likelihood of one’s actions.”

“Wouldn’t just knowing with absolute certainty be better?” Kevin returns. 

“It removes a lot of fun out of everything. What’s the point of doing it if you already know how it will end?”

“Sometimes it’s about the journey, not the destination?”

“Sometimes, sure. But if I know I will succeed, I won’t even bother trying,” Murphy answers. “What brought the question up anyway?”

There’s still some ice cubes in his glass that have not melted all the way. Biting on them is nice, and Kevn takes the time to enjoy the coldness before answering. “You seem stressed.”

“You asked me a question, because I seem stressed?”

“Yes,” Kevin says matter-of-factly. “For what in your life are you most grateful?”

Murphy slips his phone back in his pocket. He reaches for the glass, taking a sip and letting out a sigh. “For what in life am I most grateful?” he echoes the question, swirling the glass around. “Music, maybe?”

“That’s an interesting answer. Why music?”

“It’s a good way to express emotions, I suppose. Express and experience and, well, it’s just very enjoyable.”

“Express? You sing, Murphy?” Kevin asks, already knowing the answer. He really does wish he had stayed awake much longer to at least hear more of the singing in the car.

Murphy looks away to a far corner of the place like it’s the most interesting thing he has ever seen. “Sometimes,” he admits, almost too quiet for Kevin to hear. “Why am I even telling you this?”

“Why not? It isn’t like I will tell anyone this anyway,” Kevin says. “Dead men tell no tales, or so I’ve heard.”

“And you’re considering yourself a dead man right now?”

“I know you’re planning to give me a very painful death in front of Raymond as payback. Oh, don’t look so surprised, this whole thing is very obvious.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Murphy snorts. “You can’t say it’s not effective though.”

“I can’t.”

“And is Raymond what you’re most grateful for?” 

“No, don’t be a romantic. It doesn’t suit you,” Kevin says. “Literature.”

“Of course, Mr. Classic-professor-at-Columbia,” Murphy shoots back. “Why that?”

“Same answer as you. To express and experience and enjoy something extraordinary,” Kevin pauses, adding. “I’ve been...saved, in a weird way. Or perhaps absolved would be a better word.”

“Poetic much?” Murphy dryly asks.

“Perhaps. Doesn’t make it any less true. Name three things you and me appear to have in common.”

“Where are you getting these?”

“A study. It helps, I promise,” Kevin says. “You don’t seem stressed anymore.”

“I’m not, I suppose. How?”

“Questions that require you to actually focus on finding an answer are a great distraction.” Murphy finishes his drink, placing the empty glass down and tapping on the table. “That kidnapping plan of yours would also be a great distraction for what it’s worth.”

“Oh,” Murphy says.

“I did say we could continue this when I’ve finished my drink.” Kevin says. “Though to be fair, I’ve been finished with mine for a while already. But you deserve that glass too.”

Murphy nods. “Alright. I assume that you will cooperate and won’t put up a fight?”

Kevin shakes his head. “No. You can drug me when we get to the car. It will certainly make this easier for you.”

“It’s still creepy how you just know about it, and how calm you are,” Murphy mutters, standing up and starting to walk out. Kevin lets an amused smile show as he follows, letting Murphy lead him to the car.

The sun hasn’t risen yet. Kevin quickens his steps until he’s walking next to Murphy, not just tailing behind. 

“And as for your previous question,” Murphy starts, and Kevin holds back the surprised look on his face at how quickly he jumps back to the conversation. “We’re both hot, that’s one thing.”

“We’re both not overconfident.” Kevin rolls his eyes. “That’s just you, apparently.”

“We both enjoy an Old Fashioned,” Murphy continues. “We’re both breaking the rules, you not being in your safe house and me not taking proper kidnapping precautions.”

“Thank you for that, by the by. I don’t like how Ketamine makes me feel, no offense.”

“You’re welcome.”

Kevin can see the white Rolls-Royce from here, standing out from the more normal cars around it. “We’re both fans of the arts,” he says, wondering if he should toss the next one out before shrugging. Why the hell not, really? “We both like the power rush too much.”

“You?”

Kevin gives Murphy a grin. “It would be very easy to take you down right here with your own syringe, take your car and drive away,” he casually says like they’re describing the weather. “I know some of your people are watching. It wouldn’t be hard to get past them either. The possibility is enough to get something running already, wouldn’t you say?”

“The possibility, of course,” Murphy says. His voice is not as composed as Murphy's probably thinking that it is right now. “You really think you’re in control of the situation right now?”

“I know I am,” Kevin says. He really wishes he would have taken Jake’s gun now, just to drive the point home better, more effective. “Come on, let’s go to your warehouse.”

“I- won’t even bother asking how you know. Get in.”

He thinks Murphy’s trying to give out an order, a last ditch attempt to recover from his little...speech. “We both can tell that that doesn’t work,” Kevin adds, opening the door on his side and getting seated.

“We both know that you wouldn’t do anything when I’m driving.”

Kevin straps the seatbelt on. “That’s two more statements than needed,” he points out. “We’re doing great, don’t you think?”

“Three more,” Murphy corrects, starting the car. “That’s three more now.”

“So it is,” Kevin agrees.

Murphy doesn’t seem to want to elaborate or continue the conversation now that they’re on the road, and he gladly accepts the silence that he knows will be interrupted by Murphy’s mumbling in a few minutes.

He’s saying things about numbers and statistics that make no sense to Kevin. What makes sense is Murphy’s expression, almost mirroring the one he had in the bar earlier.

“If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?” Kevin asks.

Murphy glances over at him. “Is this about the stress thing again?”

“Yes. Since apparently one distraction is not enough, have another one.”

“Ah, how generous and kind. I wish my dad didn’t make me shoot a guy when I was 7.”

“Oh,” Kevin says. “I’m sorry to hear that? You know, there’s no good response to that statement.”

“No, there’s not,” Murphy agrees. “The reaction to that statement is amazing every time though.”

“Every time? You make it a habit of telling people about your tragic backstory?”

A shrug. “Not in particular, no.” 

“I don’t even know how to properly say it besides inheriting the title, but that was forced onto you? When you were 7?”

“Basically.”

“I see,” Kevin hums. He doesn’t, of course he doesn’t because how can one even fathom that? “Have you ever seen a therapist?”

“What would I tell them, that my dad forced me to kill a guy?” Murphy laughs with no real joy behind it. “Yeah, no.”

“Don’t you all have a special therapist or something in your circle?” Kevin asks. “There has to be one, right? Being a therapist in the NY crime scene sounds like a very profitable business.”

“No, but you know what? That’s a stellar idea,” Murphy says. ”I will look into it after I’m done with Raymond.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And what about you?”

Kevin shrugs. “I would make it so that my parents wouldn't be homophobic and that they did not force catholicism on me. Nothing as drastic as what your dad did, of course, but still.”

“Now have _you_ seen a therapist?” Murphy asks.

“Yes. It helps with the guilt,” Kevin says easily.

Now, seeing a therapist about the time loop, that’s a different topic all together. He entertains the thought for a moment, before letting that crumble away. At least Murphy’s problem is not easily brushed off as a fantasy.

And considering Murphy’s answer, Kevin’s hesitant to ask the next question. And he knows he'd shuffled the order up earlier, but there’s also no better time to ask this really. 

“Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible.”

“What is this, oversharing hour?” Murphy asks. He’s both amused, Kevin notes, and somehow he also looks tired. “Your study is very weird, you know this right?”

“The things you do and ask to understand a human being.”

“Right.”

“You don’t have to, of course.”

The tapping on the wheel increases in speed before stilling entirely as Murphy grips the wheel. “I grew up in Harlem, with my dad and three brothers. Killian, well, you already know the part where he basically forced me to shoot a guy at 7. Dad didn’t really force the other three as much, probably since I’m the oldest so I had to take over the whole thing.”

Kevin wonders if he should reach out and try to comfort Murphy or something. He knows it’s not his imagination that Murphy’s breathing speeds up somewhat. 

He doesn’t let himself, if only so he can hear the rest of the story this time.

“Went through school, made absolutely zero friends besides the kids that I was supposed to be socialising with for business purposes,” Murphy huffs. “Most of them are dead now. Got really into math, then the old man thought that was useful enough so he pushed me into both killing people while also differentiating and integrating and all the statistical stuff.”

Kevin blinks, before smiling slightly. “I wouldn't have pegged you as a maths guy, but now that you say it, I can definitely see it. And see why it’s useful.”

“Straight As in math, baby,” Murphy grins. It’s a real grin, one that fades away as he continues. “The rest? Trashed. But yeah, took over the thing at around 27 since dear old dad died, built my way up to where I am now. Fucked with the NYPD, got fucked by your husband, decided to plan this revenge thing. Instead I’m giving you a summary of my shitty life while I’m driving you to a warehouse.”

“Fun life,” Kevin remarks.

Murphy chuckles. “You have no idea. But well, what can I do really? You just have to play with the cards you were dealt.”

“Not always, no,” Kevin shrugs. “Born in Buffalo to dear Father and Mother. Two years later Martin came along too. Didn’t kill anyone at the age of 7 if you were wondering.”

“I was,” Murphy adds with a smile. “Continue.”

“Well, normal childhood. Or as normal as you can get in a catholic household and Mother never being around. Got pressured into learning medicine, I think they really wanted me to go into pharmacy. Found out I liked boys around my teenage years, experienced, all that. Found literature, fell in love, the rest is a blur really.”

“And do you regret anything about it?” Murphy asks. 

It’s a good question. Kevin tilts his head, shrugging. “If I did anything differently, I would not end up in this situation. So maybe, but also, maybe not.”

“Vague.”

“That’s one thing I’m good at, yes,” Kevin doesn’t argue. “You really should talk to someone about that, honestly.”

“I’m talking to you, aren’t I? Doctor Kevin Cozner.”

“You know what I mean. Get some help, you deserve it.”

“I don’t,” Murphy shoots back too easily. “Let’s not have this conversation right now, alright? It’s bad enough that Brendan is nagging about it, I don’t want to have you here too.”

“It’s just a suggestion,” Kevin retorts, pausing before carefully adding, “Are you doing alright right now?”

“The last thing I need is some comfort from my supposed hostage. No offense.”

“None taken. Do you want to continue on?”

Murphy snorts. His voice is definitely rougher when he answers, “There’s more after that?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Kevin doesn’t lie. “Don’t worry. It will only get worse from here on out.”

“Now those are some comforting words. You really should change your career to a therapist.” Murphy resumes his tapping, albeit slowly. “You’re already good at forcing information out of people.”

Something travels through for Murphy then. And if that something is a weird familiarity with Kevin, then well, he can use that. “It’s just you,” he says. “But well, perhaps it’s always easier to talk to a dead man walking. Who am I going to repeat your life to anyway?”

“Dead man, again? Are you that sure that you’re going to die here?”

“The outlook is not the best, I have to admit.”

Murphy opens his mouth, before closing it. “That is fair, I suppose,” he finally says. “If Raymond plays his cards right, you won’t die here today, you know?” 

Kevin stifles a mocking laughter. Of course that’s how Murphy would look at it. “Maybe,” he says. “How far away are we?”

“We’re almost there. And,” Murphy says. “From there I will need to tie you up. Precautions and all.”

“Of course. Wrists behind my back?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“It’s fine.” 

The warehouse is approaching in the distance, and Kevin stretches in his seat, hearing some joints popping. He moves his wrists back, settling on a position easily and keeping them there until the car stops and he gets out. 

Murphy gets the rope, looping it around his wrists but not so tight that it cuts at the skin.“All done,” he says. “Do you still feel in control?”

The rope really isn’t all that tight, again. “Does it matter what I feel?” Kevin asks.

“I suppose not,” Murphy says, walking to the warehouse. Kevin follows him inside, yawning slightly as the not quite routine plays out. Soon enough he’s tied down to a chair and Murphy’s sitting opposite to him, his legs propped up on Kevin’s thighs and his phone in his hand, inputting Raymond’s number.

“Hey Murphy,” Kevin starts moments before Murphy presses call. “Before that, do you mind answering another question?”

Murphy looks at him with a raised eyebrow. “Is it also incredibly invasive like the last time?” he asks.

“If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?”

“If one of my key planned moments would work,” Murphy answers. “The whole operation is hinged on those moments, and honestly, knowing that at least one would work would be a relief.”

“Whatever happened to not wanting to know the destination with absolute certainty?” Kevin asks.

“It’s not knowing the final result. This is me knowing my chance of success is higher, but it’s not the full plan. There’s still everything else to execute, to put into action, to take a risk,” Murphy says. “And you?”

Kevin smiles. “I think I’d like to know if there’s a way to end it all,” he answers. “Not that I’m particularly in a hurry to search for a way out, but knowing that there’s one correct solution would be nice.”

“A way to...end it all?”

“I’m sorry that I interrupted your call with Raymond, but well,” Kevin shrugs, stilling the foot tapping on the concrete floor. “I think it’s best to just make everything clearer, don’t you think? For both of us, mostly for me.”

Murphy’s very confused right now. He lowers his phone slowly, gesturing for Kevin to continue. He does.

“I’ve been here before,” Kevin says. “I’ve been here a lot of times before. I have died a lot of times before, both here and elsewhere.”

“Do you even know what you’re- What?”

Kevin laughs. “You don’t believe me,” he says softly. “But you will.”

“I- What?” Murphy repeats himself.

“I’m not insane, and you have a very good singing voice. How did it go again?” Kevin hums softly, muttering the lyrics under his breath before saying them louder. “My knees went out, the ground rushed in.”

“The grass went dark and dizzy,” Murphy continues. His hand is massaging his temple now as he leans back in his chair. “How- You- That’s impossible. No one knows.”

“Aww, I’m glad you chose that song to sing then,” Kevin continues. “I can tell you about your plan to dramatically slit my throat in front of Raymond before offering him another deal as you stab me in the shoulder if you want more evidence. Or about Brian and Liam and Trevor and Anthony.”

“That’s how you knew about everything before this.”

Kevin nods. “Yes.”

Murphy slumps back in his seat. He stares at Kevin, or maybe he’s just staring into space. Kevin can hear the cogs and gears turning from over here and he reluctantly gives Murphy a minute to process everything.

Honestly, a minute is too little for what he’s about to ask anyway.

“...How many times have you been here?” Murphy whispers, his voice strained.

“Enough to know how well it will end for me.” Kevin cocks his head, humming before continuing. “To be honest, I’m just telling you this so I can ask you to make my death quick and painless. I’ve found that a bullet through the head is very effective.”

Murphy doesn't so much respond as he just blankly nods. He’s overwhelmed, crossing and uncrossing his legs, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He’s even refusing to look at Kevin. 

“You’re telling me this,” he brokenly starts. “So you can ask me to help you kill yourself.”

“Basically, yes. You will be the one doing the killing anyway, so it’s not even quite killing myself.”

“No.” Murphy’s tone is monotonous. “No, I’m _not_ going to kill you-”

“You did. Take the offer and the shot, that is,” Kevin cuts in easily. That shuts Murphy up quickly, and he knows he has hit the mark. “You did put a bullet straight through my head, you know, after telling me to ask for it again. It was quite a sight to behold, honestly.”

“No.” Murphy has stood up from his chair, looking down at Kevin with a look of fear that’s badly covered up with false bravado. “I couldn't care less if that has happened, I’m not doing it.”

“Why are you suddenly having a change of heart?” Kevin rolls his eyes. “It’s very sweet and I appreciate it, of course, but come on. Let’s not kid yourself here, Murphy. You were going to kill me anyway.”

Murphy doesn’t object. He’s not reaching for his gun either, his hands merely hanging by his side. His fists are clenched tight, and Kevin imagines nails digging into skin, leaving small crescent marks.

“...Is this about your childhood? The thing with your dad?” Kevin hazards a guess. Murphy’s silence is answer enough. “You’ve been in this situation before. Not exactly the same one, of course, but there was someone else sitting here, asking you to end their life calmly, perfectly in their right mind.”

“No.”

“Were they actually asking out of wanting the bullet or do you suspect otherwise? Killian set the stage up for you, didn’t he?”

“I-”

“You took the shot.”

“No.”

“Murphy, take the gun out.” To Kevin’s amused surprise, Murphy follows his words, pulling the gun out from his holster. “Click the safety off. Then raise it up until it’s pointing between my eyes. You can come closer.”

Murphy takes two steps toward him, and that’s enough for the barrel to touch skin. It’s a refreshing coldness that spreads out from the point of contact, and Kevin smiles. “Move your trigger finger to position. And then gently press back. You can do that, right?”

“Right,” Murphy mutters. He lifts his finger from the side of the gun, moving it to where it needs to go. He doesn’t press, merely having it hover there.

Kevin sighs. He leans backward just to take a better look at the barrel, focusing on that for a moment before looking up at Murphy.

He’s crying, or at least he’s about to cry. There’s no good lighting in the warehouse, but what sunlight has managed to find its way in catches on the unshed tears. Murphy’s hands are shaking.

“It will be fine,” Kevin says. “I know how much you want to be like Jordan. This is a stepping stone to get closer to your goal, alright? You can’t be infamous in the NY crime scene if you can’t even back up your reputation.”

“You sound like him.”

“Do you hate him?” Murphy nods. “Imagine him here, where I am. Then press the trigger.”

There’s a quietness, broken only by Murphy’s harsh breathing. And then...

* * *

The fourteenth time, Kevin wakes up with a smile.

The restless, jittery feeling is flowing through him, and he wastes no time getting out of bed this time. That feels good, in a way that he used to find horrible before Sunday the 18th.

There’s no consequences to weigh him down, that must be it.

He grabs the jacket, swinging it on with a flourish and straightening the front so it doesn’t look so wrinkly. Jake’s wallet is easy to find, specifically the one with the tracker, and he stuffs that into his pocket, nodding to himself. 

Jacket, wallet, check. And, Kevin looks to a specific drawer in the living room, Jake’s gun. Having no holster wouldn’t be that big of a deal, not when he intends to use it almost right away. The only thing he really has to be worried about is if it accidentally goes off in the taxi.

He pulls the drawer open, smiling at the familiar gun that greets him. Kevin reaches out, just about to pick it up and wrap his hands around it when the living room light flickers on.

“Kevin?”

“Jake,” Kevin sighs, standing up and looking over. “What are you doing up so late?”

“I heard movement,” Jake mutters. His hair’s a mess, the shirt is hanging loosely off his hunched frame and Kevin watches as he tries and fails to stifle a yawn. “What are you doing?”

Kevin looks down at himself, all dressed up and for all intents and purposes, ready to go out. He looks up at Jake. “You tell me, detective Peralta.”

“We’re back to Peralta? Come on,” Jake groans. “Kevin, just. This is not funny. You’re in here for a reason.”

“I know,” Kevin says, zipping the jacket up. “Want to go with me?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Want to go with me? I will explain everything, I swear.”

“What is there to explain?” Jake asks. He walks closer to Kevin, pausing a few steps away. “You were even going to take my gun- What the fuck? Kevin, what's gotten into you?”

Ah, he hadn't closed the drawer when Jake interrupted. Kevin shrugs, walking over to the coat hanger and throwing Jake his jacket. “I think, out of everyone, you would be the fastest to believe what I have to say,” he muses aloud.

“Believe what?” Jake hesitantly asks. Kevin looks over to see Jake is midway through putting on the jacket, struggling with getting his other hand through. “Kevin, you’re worrying me…”

“Let’s take a walk.”

“I- Ok, gimme a moment. Let me, you know, get the gun that you were about to take had I not followed you down here.”

He waits at the opened entrance as Jake scrambles to the living room and then rushes back, the general shape of the gun visible on his side, badly concealed by the jacket. Kevin sighs, letting Jake get out first and closing the door behind him.

His steps take him to the usual spot where Kevin would wave down a cab, and Jake follows. Even in the low light, he can see a rare spring in Jake’s step.

“So, not to say I’m objecting to any of this but I’m also definitely objecting to us being out,” Jake starts. Even his voice sounds more cheerful. “But why are we out? And what do you have to explain?”

He can also see the general silhouette of the familiar taxi in the distance. Kevin moves his hand up, flagging it down. “What if I told you that I’m stuck in a time loop?” 

“What?!” Jake yells, winces, then repeats the word in a quieter tone. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

“Time loop, time repetition, however you want to call it really,” Kevin continues. “Basically, I’m stuck repeating Sunday the 18th.”

“Oh.”

The car stops in front of them, and Kevin opens the backdoor. “If you believe me, get in. If you don’t, well, I think someone will find your unconscious body out here when the sun comes up.”

Jake all but sprints to the car, his movements fast and frantic. Kevin holds back a chuckle, getting in next to Jake and closing the door.

“Evening. Columbia University, please,” he says to the driver, and from the rear-view mirror he can see them nod. “Thank you.”

The car speeds off after that, and Kevin leans back on his seat, watching Jake out of the corner of his eyes.

“So?” Jake prompts. There are stars in his eyes, and his excitement is palpable in the air. “You were saying?”

“I was right, you believed it so easily,” Kevin says. “But yes, as I was saying. I’m forever stuck on Sunday the 18th, and this would be at least the… do you have a pen here?”

“Why would I have a pen on me?”

“It doesn’t matter, really.” Kevin moves his sleeve up until his tally marks are visible. It has been so long since he even laid eyes on the 7 lines and a question mark that the mark feels foreign on his forearm now.

“Ok, wait, your tattoo?” Jake asks. He leans closer, and Kevin tenses but he doesn’t stop Jake from apprehensively staring at it. “This has something to do with your time loop business? You really should have told me this earlier, like, waaaay earlier.”

Kevin nods, pauses then looks up at Jake. That doesn’t compute. “Tattoo?” he asks.

“Yeah. You were always so secretive about it when I asked too, which makes sense now I guess.”

“Was I?”

“Uh huh,” Jake distractedly answers. “You just flat out refused to answer me anytime I asked about it. For the longest time I assumed that you got really really drunk one night and got a tat.”

“...Of course,” Kevin hesitatingly replies, before steering himself back to what he was meant to say, “This is, however, a bit outdated. This is at least the fourteenth time I have repeated today.”

“So, this would be the fourteenth loop, right?” Jake asks. Kevin nods. “How many times have you sneaked out like this?”

“Four times.”

“Oh. Is this the first time I went with you? Wait, is this the first time you're even telling me about this?”

“This would be the second time telling you, I think.” He tries to flip through what memories he has of the loops. “The first time you didn’t have much time, so we didn’t get to talk much. Honestly, I might as well consider this the first proper time.”

“Huh. That’s… kinda awesome, not gonna lie,” Jake whispers. “Ok, so since this is the first time does that mean you haven’t heard of the JGTATTL protocol, acronym still under work?”

“I-” Kevin lets out a small chuckle, despite himself. “No, I can’t say that I have.”

“Jake Got Told About The Time Loop protocol is a go then!”

“You have a protocol for this specific situation?”

Jake gives him a look that merely says, obviously. “I have been waiting for this day since I watched Groundhog Day,” he says. “Wait, have you watched Groundhog Day? Don’t even answer, you look hella confused and that says enough.”

“So, what is in this protocol?”

“Well, first things first, you get a secret code word so we can skip the whole explaining thing the next time you decide to tell me. And there will be a next time, right?”

Jake’s looking at him with pleading eyes now (he’s really good at expressing emotion with just those) and Kevin hums, thinking his options over before answering, “If you get up in time to catch me, then yes. Otherwise I would prefer it if you got a good night's sleep.”

“Fair deal,” Jake nods. “Now, just look me straight in the eyes, and say Asparagus.”

“Asparagus?” Kevin asks.

“Ew- yes, perfect. Also ew, but you know, you gotta do what you gotta do.”

“Why that, exactly?”

“No one in their right mind would look me in the eyes and say asparagus,” Jake says. “So, you know, gotta choose a word that will never ever come up in normal context. And since this is like, top top important stuff, obviously I would go for asparagus.”

“I hate how you actually make sense,” Kevin says. “Is there anything else in the protocol?”

“Hold your horses, professor Cozner,” Jake tuts at him like he’s the professor here. “I will get there in just a moment.”

“It’s doctor.”

“Sorry, doctor,” Jake amends. “Though between you and me, professor sounds way cooler. You know, like professor X, or professor-”

“-Layten, or just The Professor. Oh that gives me chills,” Kevin finishes the sentence.

Jake lets out a high pitched squeal. “This is the best day of my life,” he squeaks out, a blinding smile taking up most of his face. “You know!”

“It’s hard not to when you saying the wrong title is a constant,” Kevin says. “Sorry for interrupting.”

“That’s anything but interrupting, that’s the coolest thing ever! Anyway, why are we heading to Columbia? Do you have secret time loop things going on? Is that why you’re going out?”

Kevin hums. Now that Jake’s following, Columbia doesn’t feel like a good place to stop by, if only because he’s not sure how well Jake and Murphy would actually get on with each other. “Actually, where do you want to go? It has certainly been some time since you got out of the house.”

“Oh- you’re letting me pick?”

“Preferably somewhere not NYPD related, of course.”

“Oh?”

“I will catch you up on everything later, I promise.”

Jake lets out a sigh, swaying left and right in his seat. “You know… Weirdly enough, I just want to go somewhere relaxing.”

“It’s not that weird, believe me,” Kevin says, then louder he announces the new address - a different bar that’s far away enough from Columbia or Murphy in general. 

He takes out the wallet, ignoring Jake’s indignant “hey!”, and removes the bills, giving some of them over to Jake. The wallet gets ditched out of the window, and Kevin rolls the window back up, stopping the cold wind from pouring into the car. 

“Tracker,” Kevin explains at Jake’s look. “Actually, hold still. You still have more trackers on you.”

“What?! Where-?”

“Hold still.”

They get rid of the rest of the trackers easily, Jake grumbling as he fixes his hair. “Can’t believe Capt would actually bug me that much. Like, it’s still so cool, but also what the hell, you know?”

“He worries," Kevin shrugs, then adds. “For good reason.”

“That sounds like there’s a story there. Which is the next part of this all, because Kevin I need your full time loop story. Ok, maybe not full if it’s too long but still, a summary would suffice.”

Kevin glances at the driver who’s still keeping their eyes on the road. It isn’t like the previous minutes of conversation haven’t painted him and Jake as two maniacs who are probably high on something, but a part of him really doesn’t want to get into how he left Jake to die while they’re in a taxi with a stranger. “Naturally, but not right now.”

“Fair fair.”

The rest of the car ride is not in silence, not with Jake’s rambling coupled with his rapid arm-flailing. Well, he’s happy and that is good. Kevin has missed it, seeing Jake this excited about something even when he doesn’t understand a word of what he’s talking about.

His thoughts keep going back to the fact that he has had those marks before. Jake has seen them, retelling the moment when he asked Kevin about the tally and received no answer.

At some point the taxi stops, and Kevin pays the fees before getting out. He closes the door when Jake is out too and the taxi speeds off, leaving them alone in front of a flashing neon sign.

“Oh? I say relaxing, and you bring us to a nightclub?” Jake asks, elbowing Kevin playfully. “Nice.”

“Not every bar in New York is a nightclub, Jake,” he answers, walking in. “What do you want to drink?”

“I don’t know, whatever beer they have on tap? ‘M not picky.”

“This is your first time in however long that you’re out, and all you want is a beer?”

“Told you I’m not picky.”

“Go save us a table.”

Jake shrugs, moving away from him. Kevin can see Jake getting seated in one of the corner booths, unzipping the jacket and draping it over the chair. The dim yellow light lights Jake rather nicely, he thinks.

It’s not a busy night, and Kevin flips through some options before settling on a Mai Tai for Jake and ordering a Whiskey Sour for himself, paying quickly. It doesn’t take that long for everything to be finished, and sooner than later he’s sitting in front of Jake again, the glass in his hand.

He takes a drink, knowing he will probably need it for the next talk. It’s smooth, just a little creamy and frothy. The whiskey only shines through in the aftertaste, and Kevin lets out a sigh. “So, I assume you really want to interrogate me now?”

“I would not say interrogate,” Jake smiles. “But hey, share what you want to share really. It’s not like I would know what you’re leaving out, now would I?”

“You would be surprised,” he says dryly. “Sometimes things travel through. Sometimes, you remember things you shouldn’t.”

“What?” Jake gasps. “Oh that’s cool.”

“I would not describe it as cool.” Kevin pauses, takes another well-deserved sip. “You died. I’m not going to sugarcoat much of this, but you died. Multiple times. I used to think stopping you from, well, dying would stop the loop.”

“That does seem like an obvious condition, yeah.”

“It does not. But more on that later. You died, and in the next loop, for some reason I don’t even know and will probably never find out, you remembered how you died...kind of.”

“What do you mean kind of?”

“I won’t go into the details, but you basically asphyxiated to death once.” Jake’s sudden sharp intake of breath at the statement adds a certain something to the atmosphere. “It was what? 10 minutes until you were dead, maybe. Whatever, it’s not important now. Next loop, you woke up from a nightmare.”

“Oh.”

“You were drowning. It wasn’t the same thing, I’m glad you didn’t have to re-experience your short session of torture for the sake of inflicting pain only. It wasn’t that different either, you being unable to breathe, or to do anything about the situation.”

Jake’s quiet now, bringing his own drink up and taking a large gulp. “This is really good,” he whispers, shaking the glass. The ice hitting against the clear wall fills the silence. “You know, it’s not every day that your dad- I mean, housemate describes how you died in a time loop.”

“No,” Kevin agrees. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. It’s just weird,” Jake shrugs. “I was expecting something along that line, but expecting it is different from actually hearing it said aloud, you know?”

“Of course.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stop you. Continue?”

Kevin does, going through the first few loops, detailing how he was finally sure about what was (is) happening, skipping the white room inbetween. He skips a lot of things, conveniently leaving out details.

Like Jake said, it isn’t like he would know that Kevin’s not painting the full picture.

Kevin stops at the eighth loop. He looks down at his glass. The drink has been slowly going down as he's been taking sips in the middle of his long monologue. His reflection stares back.

“Kevin?”

He looks up at Jake: His skin is flushed red now, presumably from the drink. His hair is even more of a mess from Jake’s pulling on it during the more action-packed or stressful parts of Kevin’s retelling, and the not yet dried tear streaks on his face only add to the look.

He’s dealing with this better than Kevin was expecting, honestly.

“Right,” Kevin clears his throat. “Sorry. Where was I?”

“Murphy just, well, emptied a round in you,” Jake answers. “I don’t think you survived...obviously.”

“Obviously,” Kevin echoes. “That’s the end of the eighth loop then.”

He trails off, his finger tracing the rim of the glass, not quite as cold to the touch as it was an hour or two ago. How long have they sat here, going through this a day at a time anyway?

“There isn’t anything special about loop nine,” Kevin says. “The car chase was still a bust, and at that point I tried to avoid getting into one. Too many unknown variables for too low of a payout.”

He keeps this considerably briefer than the first eight, and he knows that Jake can tell that it’s not the full story. But Jake doesn’t say anything, merely hums and gestures for him to go on.

Kevin doesn’t want to go on, doesn’t want to tell Jake that he killed himself and then decided to lay back and not do anything about these time loop shenanigans that he has found himself forced into since then. It isn’t that he’s feeling guilty, or at the very least, he’s not guilty for his actions.

The excitement in Jake’s everything, his expression, his words, his body language has not faded at all.

Nothing matters at the end of the day, but right now he feels like this matters.

“The next loop I woke up,” Kevin says measuredly. “It was due to loud noises downstairs.”

Jake’s eyebrows climb up. “That’s not-”

“The usual, yes. I don’t know what changed that time, but apparently Murphy had a change of plan. They broke the door down in the middle of the night, and the loop was swift this time. You got killed off easily, and I caught a stray bullet that did enough damage for me to pass out before I got to Murphy. The day reset.”

“Oh shit- that’s why you went out!” Jake half-yells. “So, what did you find out? Oh, are we going to do this today?”

“I haven’t had any success, so the rest of the loops until now have not been so productive,” Kevin says. “Last I heard, which is not-yesterday, Murphy might be up to something in Columbia. Hence the reason I gave the taxi that address...and also why I almost took your gun.”

“Fuck,” Jake says. “That’s- yeah, that’s a lot to process. I’m glad you decided to do this here instead of in the car now, cause god I need this.”

Kevin watches as Jake finishes his drink, the only things left being the ice and the garnish. “Shall I order you another?”

“No no, it’s fine,” Jake says. “I don’t want to get too drunk, you know?”

“Understandable,” Kevin nods. “What do you want to do then?”

“Hmm?”

“Jake, no offense, but I’m not taking you with me on my… activity. Don’t argue- I don’t need you dying on my watch. I mean it.”

“I guess,” Jake sighs, scratching the back of his neck. “Me being alive is a needed thing for the time loop, after all.”

No, it is not. Or maybe it is, but it’s not enough, Kevin doesn’t know at this point.

“Yes, it is,” he says. “Which means my- our day is practically free to do whatever you want without endangering your life.”

Jake deserves that much, really.

“Oh.”

He lets Jake stew on the choices, using the time to also finish his drink. It still takes a solid five or so minutes after that for Jake to come up with an idea.

“Say, have you been to an escape room before?”

“Ah, of course,” Kevin shrugs. “Raymond loves them. I have never been to one, myself. Work usually gets in the way whenever Raymond asks me to accompany him.”

“We have to! Well, they’re not open yet, I don’t think, but like- We have to!”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Jake smiles at him, a radiant, almost blinding smile. He lets Jake ramble to pass the time without interruptions, letting his brain jump from one topic to another at a neck breaking speed but still somehow making logical sense. 

He’s a very good storyteller too, and time flies. Before he knows it Jake’s urging him to get up and let’s go Kevin, we’re not wasting one minute because you are about to have your life changed.

Kevin goes along easily, getting into the taxi as Jake gives the address. Jake handles most of the talking really, choosing a room as Kevin takes an appreciative look at the many options they have on display.

“Come on, we’re doing Heist!” Jake calls, tugging him along.

“And I’m sure you choosing that doesn’t have anything to do with your yearly heist tradition with Raymond,” Kevin replies, amused.

“Well, with the whole precinct, because that means more asses that I can kick!”

“Raymond would beg to differ.”

Jake chuckles. “Capt. is a sore loser.”

Kevin can’t deny that, and Jake laughs some more as they’re guided to the escape room. There’s a game master, briefing them on the mission and even a video. And then there’s the actual room, and Kevin takes another look around first, unlike Jake who scrambles to the bust to the side of the room.

“Oh hey, spin-” he hears Jake mutter, and Kevin leaves Jake to tinker with that specific clue while he busies himself with the painting.

They have chosen really good paintings, Kevin has to give them that. He’s liking this already, reading the plaque under A Sunday on La Grande.

“Aha!” Jake yells, and Kevin looks up to see a part of the stance open. The busts are facing each other now, and Jake kneels down, pulling out, “A key in a case.”

“Good job.”

“Also there’s a magnifying glass here too, if you need it.”

He glances at the plaque again, humming. “I do. Come over.”

Jake passes him the magnifying glass, and Kevin follows the small writing on the plaque, looking at the pipe. 

Jake gasps softly at the small 1 that’s revealed, and Kevin has to admit, even he is pleased.

They continue through the first room quickly, Jake prying the plaque open to see more keypad and otherwise, and Kevin finding the last code: 9526.

The rest of the game passes by rather smoothly, and they don’t even have to call in any clues. Jake cheers when they enter the last code to the game, opening the gallery door as the overhanging timer stops with around 14 minutes to spare.

“GG Kev!” Jake says, patting him on the back.

“You didn’t do so bad yourself, detective,” Kevin returns, his hand still holding the printed out Water Lilies, Green Reflection by Monet.

“That was fun, right?” He looks over at Jake, nodding and doesn’t miss the little sigh of relief that follows. “Good.”

“I can definitely see the appeal.”

“Just say you’re enjoying yourself, smart guy.”

Kevin chuckles. He hands the painting over to the game master, accepting the congratulations. “I am.”

“Good. Cause we’re doing more,” Jake says, and Kevin can honestly say he’s looking forward to more with Jake too.

They do Ruins next, because as Jake tells him, Indiana Jones and Aztec temple, how cool is that and Kevin has to agree. It is cool and very immersive, and harder than the first one by a mile.

They complete it in time, of course. It would be embarrassing otherwise, Kevin thinks, a detective and a professor failing at an escape room.

The rest of the day is spent finishing a third room and then more, until the closing time arrives. And then it’s spending recklessly with Jake, eating at way too expensive restaurants and watching Jake mimic a French accent whenever he drinks his champagne.

They easily rent a hotel room, the best suite, with the rest of Jake’s money. Jake collapses on the king sized bed, groaning appreciatively at the softness of the mattress and blanket.

It does feel very good, sleeping on a comfortable bed again.

“Hey,” Jake mutters, his voice muffled by where he’s buried into a way too big pillow. “This’s a good loop for you, right?”

“This is at least the sixth time you’ve asked,” Kevin points out.

“Yeah. And what about it?”

“My answer hasn’t changed from the last time, Jake.”

Jake shrugs, pushing himself up into a sitting position instead. “Yeah, I know. Still, just in case. God knows you deserve some fun time after everything, you know?”

Kevin hums, which is not quite an answer but Jake takes it as his cue to continue.

“Like, time loops are fun and all, but when you told me what happened and whatnot, it just hit. And woah, I would not want to do that. But you’re doing that, and you don’t even have a choice to not do that. And that sucks.”

“Don’t worry too much, Jake.”

Jake blows raspberries at him. “I will if I want to, thank you very much. And I do. Want to, that is. Like, if I can find a way to yeet myself into this I will.”

“I doubt it’s possible.”

“Well I bet you doubted this being possible before, but here we are. So there has to be a way for me to get in, right? Like, maybe some magic fuckery and pop, here I am with you.”

“Magic fuckery,” Kevin echoes the phrase, amused.

“You have to admit, this is some high tier magic fuckery. Like, time travel and time loop fuckery,” Jake shrugs. “Do you think people are researching these?”

“Definitely.”

“So not quite magic fuckery, but see! There has to be a way to get me in, or at the very least, get you out even if you don’t save my and Captain Holt’s asses every day. Which is not good, cause I bet you will miss me, but getting out is gonna be so much better too.”

Kevin shrugs. “I’m sure if there’s a way people would have done this on a daily basis already. Or if it’s not published, then there’s no way for me to get my hands on it.”

“Fair,” Jake sighs, deflating. 

He frowns, missing that spark already. “I will look into it,” Kevin says slowly, not quite a promise.

It should prove to be interesting at the very least. It has been a while since quantum mechanics was even a thing in his life, beside a sudden and brief fascination in it in high school.

When he has time not doing what he had planned for this loop, perhaps Kevin will pull up some papers.

Jake smiles at him. “Cool cool cool,” he says, moving closer to Kevin until their shoulders are touching. “I don’t want you to go through this alone, you know?”

It’s uncharacteristically serious, and Kevin nods. He appreciates the care, really, but at the same time, it doesn’t do much. “I know,” he says, because he does know that.

“Good.”

When Kevin looks back at Jake, he is already asleep. He smiles, pushing Jake gently back to the pillow before settling in himself.

Sleep comes surprisingly easy.

* * *

The fifteenth time, Kevin wakes up with a different feeling of joy coursing through him.

There’s no rush, no high - only a bubbling happiness that makes him smile. Sure, the start of the not-yesterday was mostly him talking, lying about previous loops and that wasn’t pleasant, but what came after that almost made it all worth it.

And he almost wants to reach over and shake Jake awake. 

Almost, of course.

There are so many activities two people hiding from the law and a specific crime family can do, but at the same time, there are only so many activities they can enjoy before it eventually runs out. Does he really want to use it all up this early in the game before everything with Jake eventually, inevitably gets stale?

Kevin holds back a chuckle. 

Rationing happiness like it’s a finite resource isn’t something he has ever imagined himself doing, yet here he is.

He gets up, making sure he’s being quiet this time, learning from the last loop. The gun is retrieved with ease, and Kevin puts on a jacket and stuffs the wallet into one of the pockets before he gets out of the safe house. 

Taxi, Columbia.

Take the money out, ditch the wallet.

He does it without thinking, like it’s a routine and he’s on autopilot, tuning out the moment of boredom until something exciting happens.

Kevin has read somewhere that it takes, on average, around two months for new behaviours to become automatic.

He knows he will still be here in two months' time. The only thing he really wonders is whether the action and violence will last that long too, or if he'll also get bored of that at that point.

“We’re here,” the driver says suddenly, and Kevin blinks. He glances outside, and indeed some parts of the university are visible through the glass.

So they are.

He hadn’t even realised time had passed that fast. But well, that’s rather the point of tuning everything else out, isn’t it?

“Sorry,” Kevin says, looking at the clock and handing over the needed money, plus extra. He steps out, closing the door behind him and the taxi immediately speeds off into the distance. 

He watches until the car disappears into the night.

And then there’s just him, his gun and an unknown number of criminals that he still has to find. Kevin’s grip on the gun is relaxed as he walks through the university, keeping an eye and ear out for anything out of the ordinary.

Columbia is blissfully quiet during the night.

He didn’t know being around the familiar buildings would be that calming and relaxing, but it is. Like a homecoming, Kevin thinks. Maybe at some point he should head back to his actual home too, if only to see Cheddar. 

Well, there’s Cheddar, and there are also actual clothes of his that Kevin would love to wear again as opposed to cycling through what he has brought to the safe house. 

The next loop, Kevin decides quickly before focusing back on his search.

His steps take him to the south lawn. If he doesn’t find anyone then at least a stop at his department will do. In the distance he can see the Alma Mater statue in front of Low Library, and Kevin changes course, heading straight to her.

He still has an unused gun, and Kevin’s willing to bet that Allister’s little office is still probably in there somewhere.

And then he stops at the clearer silhouettes of people standing next to the statue that have almost gone unnoticed. 

Well, Kevin thinks. Perhaps the gun won’t go that unused then.

A shame that they’re standing that close to the statue though, Kevin happens to like her a lot. He briefly entertains the notion of a chasing game across Columbia, probably stopping at some part of the Social Studies side of things, for no particular reason.

From where he stands, Kevin can count at least 4 people standing there. So perhaps a chasing game is not that highly recommended. 

He supposes that it wouldn’t really matter in the end anyway: there is no lasting damage when you’re in a time loop, but the thought of ruining her is definitely unpleasant.

Kevin ducks behind the nearby fountain, keeping as quiet as he can. That’s probably as close as he can get without anyone noticing him, and he supposes this will do. He corrects the count from 4 to 6 people, and from a quick peek, he can see three familiar faces.

Brian and two others are here, which leaves the other three presumably from a different gang. Kevin mildly wonders where the fourth one is, before remembering someone has to keep watch outside.

Good thing he got off at a different exit this time.

Kevin takes a deep breath, looking down at the gun in his hands, then quickly stands up, taking aim and firing. He doesn’t wait, running and ducking behind the tall steps, smiling at the loud scream that rings through the empty space.

He catches his breath for one more second before moving again, firing through the rail the moment he’s in a good position.

Kevin continues running, rounding the rails then onto the steps and up, the wind blowing in his ears not even close in comparison to the loud gunshots.

It’s not hard to pick off the last one, and Kevin congratulates himself on not killing Brian and his friends, no matter how much he wants to. Murphy would probably be unhappy about him going around killing his men.

Murphy’s men are a bunch of ungrateful people though, or at least one of them. 

Someone (Kevin thinks this is Trevor) lunges toward him with a knife of all things. The blade catches light, and Kevin presses the trigger on instinct. He gets a solid three shots in, probably, Kevin is certainly not keeping count yet Trevor is still going, and logically Kevin knows he just got slashed at.

At least it’s not a stab.

He aims the gun at Trevor’s face and presses the trigger again. That does the job and the body drops with a satisfying thud against the ground, before continuing rolling down the steps, leaving multiple trails of blood in its tracks until finally stopping perfectly in the middle of the decorative square pattern.

Nice, Kevin thinks.

Not so nice, Kevin thinks, raising his left arm up and seeing a solid open cut that drags on for about six inches on his forearm and oh- In the available lighting, he can see exposed muscle glistening.

It’s so red. That accompanied with the white shine captures him, and Kevin can’t quite look away.

It’s a good thing that the cocktail of chemicals running through him right now is stopping him from feeling most of the pain. 

“Drop the fucking gun!” he vaguely hears Brian yell, and Kevin looks away from his arm. 

Brian and the second one (Anthony? Probably Anthony?) are pointing their guns at him, though Anthony is trying to find something else in his pocket, muttering to himself.

Kevin shrugs, kneeling down slowly and putting the gun on the ground. 

“Have you called-”

“Yeah, trying to- aha!” Anthony says. He pulls out a phone, quickly typing something in before bringing it close to his ear. 

There’s a conversation that Kevin can’t pick up before he nods, sliding the phone back into his pants pocket. 

Kevin wonders how fast he is losing blood. Going into shock is not on his to-do list for today, but the blood is pouring down, making his whole arm uncomfortably hot. Or maybe it’s because of the wound itself, or the adrenaline.

“Boss’s coming.”

Well, he is feeling hot all over, so adrenaline is the most likely culprit.

“Thank fucking god,” Brian says. “Now, until he gets here,” he looks at Kevin. Well, he hasn’t stopped looking at Kevin, following his every movement (or lack thereof right now) since he got the barrel pointed at him. “How shall we deal with this?”

“You have to say, he didn’t kill any of us,” Anthony slowly adds. “Only Trev, but that’s because the idiot decided the best idea was to sprint at someone holding a gun.”

“He could fucking have,” Brian says.

“I didn't have any intention to, no,” Kevin says at the same time. He should probably raise his arm above heart level right now, and Kevin does, noting how merely moving his injured arm makes Anthony flinch and Brian straighten his hold on the gun. “Murphy is coming, right?”

“In a bit,” Anthony answers. “Um- just to be really really sure, you are Raymond’s husband, aren’t you?”

“Kevin is fine.”

“Ah.”

“Say, do you mind if I head over to the medical center or-”

“Yes, I fucking do mind that,” Brian cuts in.

Kevin shrugs with one shoulder. “If you say so, Brian.”

Brian, as predicted, freezes up like Kevin is the one pointing a gun at him instead. He tries to remember the last time he did do that, and somehow Brian’s begging and grovelling on the ground is still clear in his head. 

“What did you just fucking say?”

“If you say so, Brian,” Kevin repeats. “Honestly, your funeral. I don’t imagine your boss will be pleased when he gets here.”

“My boss wants you fucking dead, he will be delighted,” Brian stalks closer. To Kevin’s credit he manages to not fight back when Brian grabs at his wound, hooking his fingers in it and pulling down. He lets his arm move with the force, wincing. “How did you know my fucking name?”

“Is that your name?” Kevin asks back, smiling. “Lucky guess.”

Brian stares at him for a while longer before he finally retracts his hand. It’s coated with blood, and he smears it on Kevin’s shirt before walking back next to Anthony.

Kevin looks at the wound again. Brian’s hand is definitely not nearly clean enough to be where it was.

He will also need so many sutures, joy.

“So, why Columbia exactly?” Kevin asks.

Brian glares at him, then glares at Anthony when he answers, “We had to pick a neutral location where bloodshed is... not recommended.” Anthony looks around at the four bodies, before looking back at Kevin again. “Well, you see how that turned out.”

“I see,” Kevin says. He doesn’t see at all. Out of all places in New York, Columbia is the best location for this? “And who was the other...family? Organisation? Gang?”

“The Castillo family,” Anthony says. “Oh. They won’t be very happy about this.”

“Obviously so.”

“Because of fucking who?”

“Me.”

“Him.”

Brian looks like he wants to kill them both right here. Kevin wouldn’t fault him for it.

It never gets to that point. Idle chatting fades, and the next time Kevin looks away from his wound, it is to see Murphy running toward the scene. He steps past the bodies (and even on one of them) as he makes his way up the steps, pausing in front of Kevin.

Murphy looks surprised.

He also can’t fault Murphy for having that reaction: this is a very unusual situation for anyone that’s not him. 

“Hello Murphy,” Kevin cheerfully says. Perhaps too cheerful for anyone that’s in his position right now.

“Kevin,” Murphy stiffly says back.

“How are you?”

“Good?” His voice climbs up, and Kevin chuckles. “What the fuck? How- Why- What?”

“You’re going to have to clarify most of your questions,” Kevin says. “And I would love to answer them, of course, but before that do you mind if I get something for this?”

It seems like Murphy only notices the obvious injury on Kevin’s arm at that point. “Jesus fuck-”

“Don’t pass out on me now,” Kevin adds.

“I won’t,” Murphy says. “Fuck. What the fuck?”

“There is a med center right here, you know? Of course I will have to explain how I got injured, and people will definitely find out about the bodies at that point but it is an option. Your choice, honestly.”

Murphy stares at him for another second before he turns on his heels. “I can take you to a doctor,” he says over his shoulder, briskly walking down the steps. “You two, the cleanup crew should be here soon. Brian, you’re in charge, report back tomorrow noon.” 

“And what about Ke-”

“I can take care of Kevin myself, Anthony,” Murphy growls. “Just, do what you need to do. There is a lot of blood and four bodies so that should keep you busy, don’t you think?”

Kevin doesn’t hear Anthony’s reply, already hurrying over, trying to catch up with Murphy. The blood trails after him, and he frowns, taking off the jacket and using a clean part to hold pressure against the wound.

He hopes that will do for now.

Murphy doesn’t say anything more as he leads Kevin away from the crime scene of his creation. Their footsteps echo in the street, Murphy’s shoes producing an especially loud click-clacking against the pavement.

The noise stops when he, well, stops in front of the white Rolls-Royce. The headlights blink once as Murphy presses a button on his key before gesturing for Kevin to get seated.

“Are you sure that you want me to get in?” Kevin asks. “The blood will get everywhere.”

“Just- get in,” Murphy snaps, opening the door for him.

“I can still use my hands, you know?” he says, amused. Murphy doesn’t reply, and Kevin shrugs, getting seated and closing the door behind him.

He doesn’t think he has seen Murphy drive this fast before. The buildings outside breeze past them, all becoming a blur and Kevin stops looking through the glass and directs his attention to Murphy instead.

If he thought Murphy was stressed before, then this is a whole breakdown. Kevin sighs, clearing his throat. “Slow down. You will get both of us killed, honestly.”

“Believe it or not, I find that hard to do when there’s someone bleeding in my car.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. I know you’ve seen worse things.”

Murphy mutters something under his breath, too quiet for Kevin to catch. Then aloud, he asks, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you do all that, back there?”

“Ah,” Kevin says. “Would you believe me if I said I felt like it?”

Murphy chuckles sarcastically. “Of course. And I’m a good person.”

“Well, the whole crime business aside,” Kevin starts. “You are driving me to a doctor because I have a cut. That ought to count for something.”

“I would not describe whatever the fuck you have going on as just a cut,” Murphy says. “And you could just say that you don’t want to reveal your reasoning.”

“I just did though,” Kevin laughs.

“Stop. Don’t lie to me,” Murphy grits out. “Just, stop that. No one feels like murdering people, least of all you. Fuck, you're supposed to be in Raymond’s useless safe house right now, not sneaking around with a gun.”

“Point,” Kevin concedes. “Why are you helping me then?”

Murphy sighs. “Think of it as a thank you,” he admits. “I have been meaning to send a message to Castillo for a while now. This moves things along faster than I expected, but it’s nothing that I can’t handle.”

“Of course. You’re welcome, then.”

Murphy rolls his eyes. “So, how’s the arm?”

“This will hold until you get me to your place. Can’t say that I’m looking forward to the stitching, but what can you do?” Kevin looks down. There’s no blood seeping through the jacket, that’s good. “A shame I didn't get to clean and sterilize it before though.”

“You’ll live.”

“Until you decide to kill me in front of Raymond later, yes.”

Murphy shakes his head. “Not today, no,” he says.

“And what? You’re just going to keep me hostage in your lair for the day? Might as well get these things over with, you know?”

“Usually people respond with more gratitude when I say they get another day to live.”

“Usually people don’t sprint at me to slash me in the arm after I let them live, yet here we are,” Kevin says. “Also honestly? Your people’s first reaction to someone holding a gun is to sprint at them, and then the next best course of action is to slash at the arm?”

“No?”

“Good. Because that was very idiotic.”

“Almost as idiotic as initiating a gunfight with six people.” Kevin doesn’t bother denying the fact. Murphy gives a long suffering sigh, and for a moment the speed of the car lowers to a reasonable number. “Are you sure that jacket is enough?”

“Don’t worry too much about me now,” Kevin teases.

Murphy snorts. “Again, hard not to when you’re bleeding out in my car.”

“You’re focusing too much on that, I think,” Kevin says.

“And you’re not focusing enough on the fact that you’re badly injured,” Murphy shoots back. Kevin gives him a look with a raised eyebrow, and eventually Murphy huffs. “Sorry.”

“You’re not the one who slashed me.” Kevin flips through the questions, pausing at the fact that they have already finished the first set before asking the next one, “Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time?”

“Sorry, what?”

“Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time?”

They ride in silence for a minute before Murphy gives an answer. “Owning a pet of some kind, I guess. Why are you asking?”

“You need a distraction, I’m curious. Win-win, honestly,” Kevin says. “Why haven’t you done it? Doubt that it’s from the lack of money.”

“Work,” Murphy says. “This is a 24/7 job, I doubt any pet would appreciate me not even looking at them once in a 72 hours period.”

“You’re either exaggerating or very overworked. Or both.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You can still have a pet? Sitters exist, and most of the time you can work while your pet is in the room with you anyway. Cheddar usually naps by my feet as I mark the schoolwork.”

“Cheddar?”

“My corgi. Lovely thing,” Kevin clarifies. “Are you a dog person, Murphy?”

“Cats are more my thing. Always wanted one since I was a kid.”

“Go buy a cat then.”

Murphy chuckles softly. “Maybe I will, when this ends.”

“Good,” Kevin says. “And instead of wasting time driving random hostages to your doctor you can play with your cat.”

“And what about you?”

“Obviously a dog person, considering I have a dog.”

“No, I mean,” Murphy sighs. “Things you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time and whatnot. That question.”

“Reading works that were burned in the Cotton library. I don’t think you need me to spell out the reason why I haven’t done that.”

“Of course. Classical literature?”

“And a lot more, yes,” Kevin answers. “So many priceless manuscripts lost to the flames. Imagine that.”

Murphy shrugs. “Sounds horrible,” he says after a beat of silence, the genuinity shining through his words.

“It is,” Kevin agrees. “What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Murphy says immediately. “Getting here to where I am right now. Basically in Jordan’s, quote unquote, inner circle and having a good plan to advance my position.”

“Was today a part of your plan then?”

“Not the killing part, no.” Murphy gives him a pointed look, and Kevin chuckles. “Intimidation was the plan, mostly. And maybe striking up a deal while we’re at it.”

“You did mean it when you said the killing doesn’t fuck your plan up, right?” Kevin asks. Not that he cares that much, considering how it will all reset anyway, but still.

“Yes. Castillo is going to be a thorn in the future, but I think this will keep him quiet for another month or so. More than enough time for me to deal with the other members in the circle.”

“Good to know,” Kevin says. “There’s an inner circle?”

“Quote unquote. Cranfill likes to call it that,” he answers. “She’s having her own fun.”

“And you aren’t?”

“I’m having the time of my life. It’s hard to get Jordan to trust you, you know? Well, you don’t, but now you do.”

“But now I do,” Kevin echoes.

“That’s mine then,” Murphy shrugs. “What’s yours?”

He pauses to think it over, wondering if his answer has changed from the last time he did this with Raymond. It hasn’t, despite it being years ago. “Getting over the internalised homophobia mess that my parents left me with.”

“Oh,” Murphy mutters. His tone is suddenly different, and Kevin decides not to look too closely into it. “That sounds rough.”

“It was.”

“I’m glad you got through it?”

Kevin chuckles. “I’m glad too,” he says softly. His hand presses down harder on the wound, applying more pressure.

Murphy’s grip on the wheel gets tighter, obviously so.

Kevin’s about to throw in another question, not one on the list, more of a check up when the car comes to a stop in front of a bland white building, and Murphy’s pulling the key out.

“Come on,” he says, opening the door and stepping out.

Kevin follows. The air outside is not plagued with that metallic scent, and he takes a deep breath, in and out before quickly walking after Murphy. He catches the last digit of the code Murphy’s putting in the padlock before opening the door, gesturing for Kevin to go in.

The interior is as bland as the outside: white walls with no decorations in sight. The wooden floor is nice though, and Kevin only feels half bad when some of the blood drips down from the jacket.

Murphy rushes him through the confusing hallways, stopping in front of a door that looks no different from those they have passed by to get here. He opens it, holding the door and Kevin nods in thanks, walking in.

“Sit down. She should be here in a bit,” Murphy instructs.

Kevin looks around the room, considering his choices before sitting on the solo bed in the middle of the room. Around him are drawers and cabinets lining the wall, all in a dull shade of grey that catches the white light.

Very white.

Kevin shivers slightly, focusing on the more colourful things in the room. His first option would be his wound if the jacket wasn’t still being pressed down on it, hopefully having stopped the bleeding. His second option is Murphy, who’s leaning against the wall opposite to him.

He’s tapping his foot, his arms are folded and his fingers are also moving up and down, tapping at his upper arm. Every now and then he checks his watch, sighing before returning to the previous pose.

Now that’s giving him second-hand nervousness, right before getting stitches too. “Murphy, sit down,” Kevin says.

“Not until she gets- ah, finally,” Murphy mutters at the sound of someone walking toward them. The door opens, and he continues, “Hey. Sorry for the short notice.”

“It’s fine. I hope I’m not too late,” a voice replies, then seconds later Kevin gets a face to match. Murphy’s doctor walks into the room, and Kevin subconsciously straightens his pose. “So, here’s my patient?”

“All yours.”

She gives him a look, nodding. “Remove the jacket, please.”

He moves it to the side, letting out a breath at the wound when it’s in view again. That is definitely muscle that’s staring back at him, and on the edges the layers of skin are clearer. The bleeding has stopped, at least, a small merit.

“Right. Seamus, go grab the suture kit, please? You know where it is.” Kevin sees Murphy nod, before he all but sprints out of the room. The doctor smiles at Kevin, walking to one of the cabinets and pulling out a box of her own. She sets it on the bedside table, pulling out a chair and sitting opposite of him. “That’s so much better, isn’t it?” 

“A bit, yes.”

“Good. I’m Sylvia, nice to meet you.”

“Kevin, and likewise.”

“Sorry about Seamus, he can be a bit overwhelming sometimes,” Sylvia continues. “Arm please.”

He holds his arm out, and Sylvia grabs it by the wrist, being much more mindful of the wound than Brian was. To be fair it's a very low bar to cross. The glove also has an interesting texture, not bad, merely strange. 

She positions the wound carefully, nodding to herself. “Hold it there for me, would you?”

Kevin nods, watching as she pulls out a saline bullet. On the other hand she holds a gauze pad, padding up the excess moisture as the solution flows down from where she’s squeezing it to the wound.

It stings, and he tries to hold still until Sylvia hums, satisfied. “You know, Seamus doesn’t usually call me for these kinds of injuries,” she says conversationally.

“Oh, and what injuries do you usually treat then?” he asks, wincing when Sylvia dries around the wound, part of the gauze brushing on the inside.

“Usually more drastic things, and usually for Seamus himself.” She discards the gauze and the empty bullet into the bin nearby. “You don’t have any adverse reaction to lidocaine, right?”

“No,” Kevin answers, though his mind’s still delayed at her previous line. “So you’re Murphy’s personal doctor then?”

“I suppose so. He doesn’t usually involve me with the lower lackeys, at least.” Sylvia fills the syringes up from a small bottle, presumably containing said lidocaine. “Squeamish at the sight of needles?”

“Not a lower lackey, more of a hostage. And no.”

“You must be a very interesting hostage then.” She grabs at his arm again. 

Well, he did kill 4 people before Murphy got to Columbia, so Kevin supposes that is a fair observation. He says that much to Sylvia, and she laughs. 

“Of course you did,” she says. “I will just numb the wound before we get to the actual fun part, alright?”

Kevin nods. He counts to seven small injections before Murphy returns, clutching a similar kit in his hand.

“Oh.”

“Seamus,” Sylvia greets, not stopping. Eight, and then nine, and ten. “Glad to see you’re joining us again.”

“That was entirely uncalled for,” Murphy says, placing the kit on the table.

“You were making my patient nervous, so it was very much called for,” Sylvia returns. She finishes up, putting the syringes back down. “Now we wait for it to set in. How are you feeling, Kevin?”

“Oh, as good as one can right now,” he answers. “Will definitely be better once we’re past the two minutes mark. Adrenaline can only do so much to keep the pain away.”

Sylvia nods in agreement. “We’re going to need to do this in two layers it seems,” she says, threading the needle. “Dermis first, and then epidermis.”

“Sounds good,” Kevin says.

He doesn’t feel any pain, only a light pressure as the sutures are being applied one by one. At first he watches Sylvia work, her eyes focused as she manipulates the needle through his dermis, bringing them close together, finishing each stitch with a quickly tied knot.

She establishes a rhythm quickly. His cut is also long, and even with the impressive speed and accuracy, Kevin knows this will take a while before the lower layer is even done.

So he tears his gaze away from the mess that is his arm right now and turns to Murphy again. 

He has not looked away from Kevin’s arm. If anything, he looks like the one getting stitches right now with how worried he is acting.

It’s honestly stupid how shaken up Murphy is right now. Logically Kevin knows it’s because of the vague feelings from past loops coming back to haunt him, something that’s almost friendship between them influencing his thoughts and actions. 

He remembers himself egging Murphy on, telling him to put a bullet through Kevin’s head. He both loves and hates the panic-stricken look, Kevin decides. 

Right now he hates it, and the next question is fitting. “Hey Murphy,” Kevin says. “What do you value most in a friendship?”

“Oh, we’re doing this again?”

“If you don’t have any objections, yes.”

“Dependability,” he answers.

A very Murphy answer, Kevin has to say. “Honesty. What is your most treasured memory?”

“Obliterating so many people in a casino on a cruise trip. I made tens of millions in one night, and it was...exhilarating. The look on people's faces too, that was a nice cherry on top of everything.”

“Oh.”

“It’s all basic math,” Murphy continues.

“Ah yes, the straight A student,” Kevin chuckles. “You would have done well for yourself in a math career too.”

“This is a math career,” Murphy replies. “Two-thirds of my paperwork is statistics and risk calculation. I leave the killing to other people.”

That explains why he can’t even throw a punch. 

“And you?”

"Playing the violin with Martin,” Kevin answers. “We were supposed to be practicing an entirely different song, but Martin was trying out music writing and well.”

He knows he isn’t imagining the bitterness in Murphy’s voice when he replies, “That must have been nice.”

He’s getting better at reading Murphy’s tone, Kevin notes. Interpreting it, on the other hand, is a different beast all on its own.

Didn’t Murphy say he has three brothers?

“It was a good afternoon, to say the least,” he continues. “Father and Mother were both out, and the first thing we decided to do was to pull out Martin’s sheet music. We only managed to stick to the actual sheet for a short while before Martin just decided to forego his own writing and improvised the melody instead.”

“So, you play the violin?” Murphy asks.

“Violin and piano,” he answers, remembering Murphy playing imaginary chords in the car. “And what about you?”

“Piano and guitar.”

The piano he was expecting, but guitar too? He’s just full of surprises, isn’t he? “Are you any good?” Kevin asks, part joking, part serious. 

“I’m decent,” Murphy says.

Sylvia makes a disagreeing noise. She’s really good at fading in the background and Kevin almost flinches at her sudden input. It’s only the knowledge that he’s getting stitches that keeps him from not making any movement. 

“He’s downplaying himself,” she says, pausing her movement for a moment to look up at Murphy.

“I’m not,” Murphy protests, holding his hands up. “I know enough to fake my way through.”

“He’s lying,” Sylvia says, flickering her gaze to him. “First layer’s done. Don’t move, I need to go and get a better sized suture.”

She doesn’t waste time, already getting up and swiftly moving out of the room, leaving him alone with Murphy. 

Kevin looks down, admiring the handywork. It certainly looks better than minutes ago, even though a part of him misses looking at the open wound. 

This will also definitely scar, and he can already imagine what it will look like, and to a better extent, what it will look like in the next loop.

“How does it feel?” Murphy carefully asks.

“It doesn’t hurt, if that’s what you’re worrying about,” he says. “The lidocaine is very effective.”

Murphy makes an understanding noise. “Right,” he mutters. He’s also standing closer to Kevin now, hovering awkwardly in his space, not quite sure what to do. 

Kevin can at least sympathise with the need to do something, anything.

“And what is your most terrible memory?” he asks.

“A very normal question to ask,” Murphy dryly replies. “My first kill, maybe.”

“Is that so?”

“I didn’t want to. I did go through with it, obviously, but I didn’t want to kill him.”

“Why did you then?” Kevin asks like he doesn’t already know some of the details. “Someone forced your hand?”

Murphy nods. Kevin waits for him to elaborate, just flat out admitting that his dad (what was his name again? Killian?) told him to, something other than silence after his words.

He had admitted many things so freely before.

“I think my worst memory is-” witnessing Jake dying many many times, getting stabbed in the shoulder, crashing the car, this time loop. “Well, it’s hard to pick one,” Kevin says when it’s clear that Murphy would not continue. “But it’s safe,” and he chuckles. “Safe to say the safe house is up in the top 3.”

“Understandable, I suppose,” Murphy shrugs. “I’m sorry that I got you into that mess.”

“Apology accepted?”

“No, it’s just. You were inno-” Murphy closes his mouth with a click. “Well, maybe not all innocent.” 

Kevin grins at him. “What gives?”

“At the start, at least,” Murphy corrects himself. “Raymond’s the one that got himself into this mess, you weren’t even a bystander. Hell, do you even know the whole reason why I threatened your life?”

“I do,” Kevin says. “It’s fair enough, really. Families and loved ones are always the easiest to target. And in your case, a fair threat to make… And I assume to go through with it at some point, sooner than later.”

“Do you really just want to get tied to the chair and be killed in front of Raymond that badly?” Murphy asks.

Kevin shrugs. “No,” he doesn’t lie. Getting killed before Raymond comes would be a better scenario, just so everything resets before Raymond has to deal with him suffering in front of his eyes while not being able to do anything. “But let’s be real here. We both know the situation at hand is what it is.”

“Don’t remind me,” Murphy sighs. “This makes no sense.”

“Not for you, no,” Kevin agrees, just in time for the door to open and for Sylvia to walk in again.

Murphy doesn’t ask him about his final statement, and Kevin shrugs, letting Sylvia work on the next layer. Watching her carefully doing the surgeon knot with ease is calming in its own way, and watching his skin closing is calming in an entirely different way but the end result is the same.

He’s just a bit sad to bid goodbye to the inside view of his arm in a way Kevin has never quite seen before.

Sylvia smiles, a small one that he’s more than familiar with. Satisfaction shines through her as she puts the forcep and scissor on the table. “Done,” she says. “Well, besides cleaning it and applying some antiseptic, but the main part is done. Do I need to give you the infection talk or do you know that already?”

“I know what to look for, yes,” Kevin answers.

Sylvia finishes everything up as she continues, “And you know this should be kept clean and dry for at least 48 hours?”

It won’t get to 48 hours, but Kevin nods anyway. “I know how to care for this, it’s fine.”

“Good. If anything, you can ask Seamus,” Sylvia laughs mockingly. “He certainly has more than enough experience to answer your questions.”

He isn’t surprised by the revelation, merely looking over at Murphy with a raised eyebrow. “If he will be accompanying me for the next two days, sure.”

“Don’t be stupid, Kevin. I know you’re smarter than that, and Seamus will stay with you, won’t he?” Sylvia cuts in before Murphy can answer, and Kevin watches with some amusement as Murphy shrugs.

“Of course,” Murphy says. “I can talk for myself, Syl.”

“You’re welcome,” Sylvia simply says. “I will keep in touch with you for the next two weeks to monitor this. Seamus can give you my number.”

It won’t be necessary, he almost says. Kevin wisely keeps that to himself, merely nodding obediently. If there’s anything he has learned, talking back to a doctor is the last thing you want to do, in this case at least.

“Is that all?” Kevin asks instead when everything is actually finished.

Sylvia rolls her eyes, waving her hand dismissively. “Unless you have more injuries that you’re hiding, then yes.”

“Thank you,” he nods. “I hope this wasn’t an inconvenience for you to come here.”

“It’s fine. Anything for Seamus, and if he wants me to fix up his hostage then I’ll get that done… No matter how weird of a request this has been.”

“I owe you one,” Murphy says. “Um, call me later tomorrow night so we can discuss the payment? I should be free after 8.”

Sylvia looks between him and Murphy, a specific spark in her eyes that Kevin can only describe as overjoyed. “Sure,” she says, making a move to clean the space up. “Now fuck off.”

“Love you too,” Murphy replies. 

Kevin shrugs, standing up and saying a last thank you and goodbye to Sylvia before he follows Murphy out of the room.

The sun has started rising, he notes when the outside greets him again. The sky is shifting hues, and according to the last loop Murphy would have driven him to the warehouse to start the revenge business of his about now.

He won’t, of course. Which begs the question of what now?

“Hey, are you coming?” Murphy calls, and Kevin realises he has sort of been standing there, a few feet from the car.

Movement kicks in as he hurries over. Kevin pauses at the sight of where his blood has stained the seat, shrugs and sits down. He straps the seatbelt on, making himself comfortable before asking, “So, what’s next?”

“What’s next?”

“I don’t imagine you will just let me go free from here. So, what’s next?”

“Sylvia did also say I have to stay with you.”

“It’s all in your hands, really,” Kevin says.

Murphy doesn’t say anything, but the car starts to move so he assumes Murphy has something in mind at least. The silence that Kevin would usually enjoy is now strangely uncharacteristically heavy, and he reaches over, turning the radio on and fidgeting with the stations.

“Any preference?” he asks, skipping what is clearly that kind of morning news with the interval pop music playing in between. Murphy did say that he sang along to the radio, didn't he?

“Not really, no,” Murphy says.

Kevin shrugs, stopping at a frequency that’s playing classical music. A piece from Schubert fills in the silence, a slower tempo.

“Are these what you usually play?”

Oh, Kevin wasn’t expecting Murphy to start a conversation, but it is a pleasant surprise. “Yes,” he answers. “Baroque, Classical, Romantic, all of that. Not Galant though, Father deemed it unnecessary to learn anything from that era.”

“Fancy.”

“Not a fan of that then. What do you play?”

“I told you, I don’t really play. I know enough chords to get by,” Murphy says.

“I’m sorry but I’ll have to tell you that I trust Sylvia’s opinion on this matter more than yours.”

Murphy laughs. Kevin thinks it’s the first cheerful-adjacent noise he has made since the last question. “You’d be right to. Trust Sylvia, that is.”

“So, what do you play then?”

“Jazz? I think that’s what you would call it,” Murphy says. “Jazz piano, sure.”

“And you said you only know a few chords.”

“To be fair, I barely play these days.”

“Right,” Kevin nods. “Your work and whatnot.”

“And whatnot, yes,” Murphy sighs. “Though even if I do play, I won’t go for jazz. Has never really been my favourite.”

“Why bother learning it then?”

“Got told to.”

The radio shifts from one impromptu to the next, and Kevin hums along. “You got told to do a lot of things,” he says.

“I did,” Murphy agrees. “Look- I didn’t mean to, well, you did ask for the most terrible memory I have and I supposed that I could lie but- and then what I just said-”

“It’s fine. Well...” Kevin gives Murphy a look over. “It’s not that fine, obviously, but it’s fine.”

“Sure,” Murphy mutters. “Do you have more questions in that list of yours?”

“It gets worse,” Kevin says simply. “Let’s not do this when you’re driving, at the very least.”

“That is fair,” Murphy concedes. “It is a good distraction, by the way. In a weird unconventional way, of course, but still.”

Ah right, his not-quite-lie about the purpose of the questions. “It is,” Kevin has to admit. He has not been thinking too much about his situation, but in this case the next question would be very counterintuitive then. 

Later, that’s for later.

Now, the piano has shifted to violin playing, soft and soothing and Kevin leans against the window, enjoying the moment. This time, the not-quite-silence isn’t so bad and his eyes slip closed without Kevin really meaning for them to do so.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He wakes up to someone shaking his shoulder, and Kevin blinks tiredly. His vision focuses, seeing Murphy, and his sleep-muddled brain quickly tries to make sense of the situation.

Ah yes, the fight at Columbia, him getting treated by Sylvia-

“Sorry for waking you up, but we’re here.”

-and then getting driven to an unknown location by Murphy. Kevin yawns, sitting up straighter. “Where is here, exactly?”

“Well, I can’t exactly bring you to work with me,” Murphy says. “So it’s back to one of my own hideouts.”

Kevin nods, looking through the window, and pauses at the sight outside. Central Park stares back at him across the street, and as Murphy turns at a corner he can see one of the corners where the Maine Monument stands.

“One of your hideouts is across from Central Park?”

“One of them, yes,” Murphy answers. He drives through a rather fancy looking gate, stopping the car and pulling the keys out. “Sorry, I don’t have much here. It’s rather a short notice.”

Kevin privately calls Murphy a liar. He gets out of the car, walking over to Murphy and looking around at the new location. And then he looks up at the location, and up and up. “Your hideout is in a skyscraper that is across from Central Park and seems to be at least 200 meters tall.”

“Not the whole thing, I know,” Murphy groans like he’s embarrassed. “I do have two floors way up there though.”

A number with too many zeros tailing along passes Kevin’s mind. He has a feeling even that is an underestimation of how much...two floors cost.

Murphy leads him inside, stopping by at the front table. Kevin listens to the conversation carefully, remembering the words and watching as Murphy (who apparently goes by Adam to the people working here) pulls out a card from his wallet, sliding it over.

“Sorry,” Murphy says to him as the staff goes to the back. “Security, you know how it is.”

There are more additional questions that Murphy answers before the card is slid back with an additional key. This feels more like a hotel, Kevin thinks, following Murphy to a side corner where a single elevator door is. Clearly a private one that opens up quickly.

It comes with only three options inside, the first floor and then the 50th and 51th one.

He doesn’t have a fear of heights, but it doesn’t mean that it’s not jarring, having a floor that high up. The elevator is fast, and his ears feel stuffed in the way he would feel when a plane is taking off. Kevin swallows, and that helps with the situation somewhat.

It doesn’t take long for the elevator to stop, opening up to a wide lobby. The whole thing looks pristine, a nice blend of white and gold accents for decoration and Murphy leads him to the large doors in the middle of the lobby. The key from earlier slides in easily, opening with a click, and Murphy pushes the doors open with a flourish.

Whatever price Kevin was thinking of before is definitely an underestimation.

The foyer itself is larger than his bedroom, the clear space giving him a direct view of the living room with huge glass windows. The sunlight of a new day pours through them, illuminating the floor and catching on the golden decorations.

Murphy walks past him like this is all normal to him, and well, Kevin supposes it is. “Do you want a tour?” he calls over his shoulder, and Kevin shrugs.

“Why not?”

Beside the magnificent view from the window and the terrace (Murphy doesn’t even go near the glass, Kevin notes with a surprise. The view is to die for,) there are way too many rooms that are clearly never used. It’s almost too clean, too neat and tidy and perfect that it sends a small shudder through Kevin.

“Do you live here at all?”

“Not really, no. This is just a backup precaution kind of deal,” Murphy answers. “There’s the walk-in closet. I’m working on filling it up, I swear.”

Kevin opens it, just out of curiosity. He was expecting actual clothes that are similar to what Murphy has on right now but instead, rows of firearms stare back at him. Interesting.

“They let you keep these?”

“Money can turn a lot of eyes,” Murphy says. “Come on, we have the study and library left. The floor above is more or less the same, so don’t worry too much about it.”

Kevin shrugs, closing the closet. They move on to the next room, the so-called library that has no interesting books beside some generic ones just to fill in the shelves, faking the look of a proper library. 

The colour coordination is on point though, Kevin has to give it that. He would hesitate for at least a second before replacing the place with actual reading material, and that is saying something.

“And this is the final room,” Murphy says. “And where I will probably stay for most of the day, so if you need me you know where to find me.”

“Of course, your work.”

Murphy shrugs, in a what-can-you-do-about-it way. “I have some spare computers and general electronic devices if you want to use them though. I don’t imagine there’s a lot to do in here.”

“A computer sounds good.”

“One moment then.” Murphy slides open one of the drawers, searching through it for a while before pulling out a charger and then he opens another one to pull a laptop out. “It should already be connected to the wifi, but if it’s not, I have plenty of data to use.”

Before this, Kevin would have been delighted at the prospect of a computer just so he can work on his manuscript. Now, he’s still delighted but not because he gets to research Aldhelm.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The laptop doesn’t take long to power up again, and Kevin settles down on a nice chair adjacent to the desk in the middle of the room where Murphy’s sitting. He spares Murphy a look, arching an eyebrow at the glasses that weren’t there before and noting that interesting tidbit down.

The regular rhythm of keyboard typing fills the room, accompanied by Murphy's slight hum under his breath. Kevin doesn’t think he knows he’s doing that, and he also doesn’t bother saying anything about it.

Why say anything really, when this creates the perfect background noise for him to focus?

Kevin clicks open the browser, and jumps into the rabbithole of quantum mechanics, gravity and time and otherwise. He’s midway through the Chronology protection conjecture paper, highlighting and taking notes along the way when a groan cuts through his concentration.

Murphy has his head in his hands when Kevin looks up to check on him. The noise slowly fades, or at the very least it’s more muffled and Kevin sighs, putting the laptop aside. “What’s wrong?”

Murphy jumps, whipping his head over to Kevin before relaxing slightly. “Oh,” he says simply, lowering his hands. “Sorry, did I disturb you? Didn’t mean to, really.”

“It’s fine,” Kevin says. “Work giving you trouble?”

“What else, really?”

“What exactly are you working on anyway?”

“Hashing out a deal with Ramsey over his new workshop,” Murphy grumbles. He pinches the bridge of his nose, leaning back in the comfortable chair. “It’s horrible and everything is horrible.”

Kevin rolls his eyes, standing up and walking over. The screen is still open, and he sees tables with numbers half-filled in that he couldn’t even begin to understand.

He reaches out, saving the program before pushing the laptop closed.

“Hey-”

“What do you want for breakfast?” Kevin asks, and Murphy closes his mouth with a click, saving whatever rant he was about to go on about.

“Anything works, really,” Murphy answers.

“You’re sad,” Kevin says. “Do you even have anything in the fridge, or is that empty too?”

Murphy shrugs. “Take a guess.”

“No then. You’re very sad,” Kevin emphasises. “We’re taking a break.”

Murphy seems like he’s about to argue before his stomach grumbles, making its opinion known. “Well then,” he relents. “A quick break couldn’t hurt.”

He looks at Murphy for a moment, flipping through some choices before settling on a recipe. “There’s a Whole Foods near here, isn’t there?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re going to help me make breakfast, and then afterwards you can go back to your work and I can go back to my research.” Kevin picks up a piece of paper and a pen on Murphy’s table, writing down the ingredients he knows he will need. “What’s your favourite ice cream flavour?”

“Chocolate?”

He notes that down, scanning the list over to make sure he didn’t miss anything. Everything seems to be in order, and Kevin nods to himself. “Come on then.”

Murphy doesn’t object, doing what Kevin tells him to. He gives Murphy the list when they get there, and Murphy only seems bemused as he goes and gathers the needed flour and eggs and such. 

“What are we making exactly?” he asks, eyeing the bottle of Grand Marnier Kevin’s holding.

“Crêpes,” Kevin answers. “You’ll like it.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

Murphy laughs at that, and Kevin smiles. The trip back is uneventful, though calling it a trip is an overstatement: it’s just going to Whole Foods and back really. They make small talk, and while it is fun to know personal information about Murphy, just hearing him trash talk his business partner like both of them aren’t huge influential figures in the NY crime scene is also very amusing, Kevin finds.

He sets the ingredients on the countertop as Murphy finishes up the story, washing his hands and getting to work. Murphy’s quiet as he mixes the batter, and while Kevin knows doing this all by himself would definitely be faster, watching Murphy not quite doing that good of a job is good too.

He makes the crêpes, enough for two and sets them aside before starting on sauce: Butter, sugar, zest and juice of the oranges, bringing everything to a simmer and gently swirling it around to incorporate all the sugar. On the side Murphy watches as he cooks the crêpes in it before plating everything.

“Can you fetch me a wine glass?” Kevin asks, opening the bottle. 

“Uh, sure?”

Murphy hands one over, and Kevin pours the liqueur out. This is mostly for show, but Murphy’s little jump when he heats it up in the glass and pours the blue flame over the plates is worth the potential injury.

It is a very beautiful sight too, the blue flame slowly flickering out.

“Oh,” Murphy says softly. 

Kevin chuckles, scooping out some ice cream to top everything off. “Bon appétit,” he says, fetching the forks and knives. 

Murphy’s eyes are still glued to the plates. “Thank you,” he says, almost too quiet for Kevin to pick up.

“You can save the gratitude until after the meal,” Kevin shrugs. “Let’s see if you like the taste first.”

Murphy does like the taste. He clears his plate surprisingly fast, finishing while Kevin takes his time getting the perfect amount of ice cream on each bite. The showing off backfires somewhat, the alcohol having a much clearer taste than if he were to simmer it off in a pan but Kevin doubts Murphy would complain about that.

Well, he has also seen Murphy hacking his lungs out after a sip of whisky, so his track record with alcohol also has that. 

“Now can I say thank you?” Murphy asks, a small smile ghosting on his face.

“The food is to your satisfaction then?” Kevin asks back, part teasing part confirming.

“God, of course! That was,” he trails off, struggling for a word before settling on, “perfect.”

“I’m glad then,” Kevin says, smiling. He brings the fork up, finishing his own portion and carefully laying the fork and knife back down on the plate.

Murphy hums, leaning back on the chair. He’s looking at him now, and Kevin remembers how intense the gaze in multiple past loops has been. The one directed at him right now is tamer, almost. 

Tame is not even really the correct word, but right now he can’t quite come up with a better description. 

“Something on my face?” Kevin asks.

“Nah,” Murphy answers. 

Usually people look away when you point out that they’re staring, but the gaze is unmoving.

Ah well, if that’s what Murphy wants to do then he can keep doing it. He would be bothered, had been bothered by that in the past loops when he was tied to the chair but right now Kevin couldn't care less.

“Good to know,” he says, standing up and grabbing his and Murphy’s plate.

“Oh- I can do the-”

“It’s no bother. I imagine I have held you back from your work for a fair bit.”

Murphy hesitates. “Still.”

“It’s fine,” Kevin waves him off. “There’s not much to be cleaned anyway.”

“But you really don’t have to. I can do it, really.”

Kevin sighs. Murphy looks like he really wants to be helpful, and he has a feeling just saying no really won’t work either. “Alright then,” he says, handing the dishes over and patting Murphy on the back. “Don’t break anything. Or do, it is your money.”

“Rude,” Murphy says. “I know how to do the dishes, thank you very much.”

“Of course,” Kevin says.

“Shut up.”

Kevin nods with a smile that, as Jake has described, walks the fine line between good-natured and absolutely-patronising-Kevin-stop-I-swear-I-won’t-add-ketchup-to-your-fancy-French-whatever-dish- 

“And stop with that too,” Murphy continues, which means the smile is working. Kevin shakes his head. “Are you not talking now?”

A shrug.

“When I said shut up I didn’t mean it.”

His eyebrow arches up.

“I’m sorry. Can you please talk now?”

“If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living?” Kevin says.

Murphy pauses, looking at him with more confusion now. “That’s what you went with?”

“You asked.”

“I did. And,” Murphy hums. “I don’t know. Maybe I will continue on normally until the last three months. Or when it’s clear that the plan won’t work.”

He walks back to the sink, and Kevin follows. “What’s next after that then?”

“Travelling, I think. I have the resources, might as well.” Murphy puts everything in, switching on the tap. The water pours, a small constant noise in the background as it hits the plates. “There are so many places I want to check out before dying, honestly.”

“Good choice,” Kevin comments. “Any specific country?”

“Vietnam, maybe.”

“Oh. Great choice. It is a very nice country, if you’re willing to overlook the pollution,” Kevin says. “Though that’s only if you want to stick around the larger cities. Ha Long bay though, that’s nice.”

Murphy cleans the dishes slowly, but at least he’s doing it carefully and properly. “You’ve been?”

“Once.” Kevin takes the clean plate, putting it on the dryer. “The sight is, you can’t describe it in words, really.”

“Glowing recommendation,” Murphy nods. “And what would you change, or do too I guess?”

The question is a proper hit on his current situation, and he shrugs. “I would take more risks. Live life the way I want to live. And there would be no repercussions because I won’t have to deal with it anyway.”

Saying that fact aloud makes it more real somehow. No repercussions indeed, or at least minor ones that won’t matter in the next loop, with some exceptions. Jake waking up with the nightmares is horrible, Raymond too and to a degree, Murphy.

Next loop and it’s not a clean slate, rather a stained one, again and again and again. But it’s not like he’s really using said slate for anything.

Kevin chuckles. It won’t matter in the long run, now will it? 

“That does sound like a good way to live, honestly,” Murphy says.

“Is that so?” he shoots back, stopping his laughter just shy of mockery. Murphy doesn’t know, he reminds himself, or at least not yet. “No repercussions is a bit of an exaggeration on my part, you know?”

It’s not.

Murphy nods. “I know. But living life the way you want to live. That sounds...ideal.”

He can’t exactly blame Murphy for not getting his point, considering his lack of the needed information to even get near there in the first place. That doesn’t mean that it’s not hilarious though.

“Perhaps,” Kevin allows, leaving the one man inside joke alone for now and steering himself back on track just for now. “Here’s a lighter question: What does friendship mean to you?”

“You say that, yet,” Murphy shrugs. “That’s a harder question.” 

“At least not a very death-centric one.”

“Fair fair. Dependability.”

Kevin wonders if Murphy has had any actual friends before. He did say that he didn’t have any in school and Kevin doubts he had any during his childhood either. So past friends are out of the question at least.

“Understanding and acceptance,” Kevin says instead of continuing his speculation. He can probably find out that information at some point anyway.

Murphy nods, finishing up and passing Kevin the last of the utensils. “Why do I feel like we’re friends?” he asks, not suddenly so. If anything Kevin’s surprised it hasn’t come up sooner, considering how Murphy’s treating him.

“Are we?” Kevin returns, playing it vague. “I’m not very dependable, least of all for you.”

“And I don’t understand you at all, yet here we are,” Murphy says.

“Maybe you do. But let’s not forget our real role: I’m your hostage and you’re my captor,” Kevin says. “And far as I know, I have not developed Helsinki- well, no, not that. Stockholm syndrome for you.”

“It’s, well, it’s whatever really. It’s just a passing feeling,” Murphy backtracks. He turns the water off, and the last of the background noise ends, leaving an empty space in the too wide penthouse. “Forget it.”

“Though,” Kevin lets some affection seep through his words. “If it’s anything, I would consider you a friend under different circumstances.”

Murphy doesn’t say anything for a long moment as he walks back to the study. When he’s finally back behind his desk, though the laptop hasn’t been opened yet, he continues. “In another life kind of thing, huh?” 

“In another life kind of thing,” Kevin echoes, getting seated on the same spot again, drawing the laptop closer. “Good luck with your business partner.”

“Ask me another question first?”

He opens the laptop, watching as the screen flashes to life. The notes are still there and the paper is still open, pausing near the end conclusion.

The laws of physics do not allow the appearance of closed timelike curves, Kevin types in the notes, frowning at the wasted time before remembering he has, as far as he’s concerned, too much time on his hands anyway.

Aloud, he asks, “What role do love and affection play in your life?”

“Not a very big one. Ask me another.”

Kevin closes the pdf, opening up the next one on his list. “Next one is not quite a question though,” he says. “Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items.”

“You’re full of surprises, I guess?” Murphy shrugs. “Is that a positive characteristic?”

“I’ll take it. You’re surprisingly caring toward your hostages.”

“Hostage, one. And it’s only because you helped with the situation,” Murphy corrects quickly. 

“Still, caring nonetheless,” Kevin replies, enjoying Murphy’s discomfort at being called that.

“You’re too kind.”

Kevin chuckles. “Debatable. You’re interesting.”

“I’m not a debate kind of guy but I will debate you on that,” Murphy says. “You’re dangerous. That’s not positive, but you are.”

“I am.” When he looks down the pdf has finished loading, the title of Treating Time Travel Quantum Mechanically staring back at him. “You’re intelligent,” Kevin continues, looking back up again.

“You’re unpredictable,” Murphy says. “I certainly wasn’t expecting you to do literally anything that happened earlier today.”

“You’re talented. Shame we don’t have a piano here, I would have loved to listen to you playing something.”

“You stole what I was going to say.”

“You’re amusing,” Kevin ends with a grin at Murphy’s direction. “Take it as a compliment,” he tacks on at Murphy’s look. 

“Right. Another?”

The next one would be- Kevin hums, scanning past the first paragraph of the introduction. Time travel to the past is not quite his situation here, but it fits enough. At the very least he will learn something new. “Are you sure?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

“How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people's?”

“Oh.”

“The only warm familial relationship I have is with my brother, and yes,” Kevin answers easily. Maybe he should drop by Martin at some point too, catch up a bit. Who knows what he has gotten up to in the past two months.

Well, he’s not in any hurry. Murphy’s not in any hurry answering that question either, and Kevin leaves him alone to work through his thoughts.

He has only gotten past the introduction section, the paper moving onto quantum circuits when Murphy starts talking again. “It’s complicated, I guess.”

Surprise surprise, Kevin thinks.

“My family was never close. Or at least not traditionally so, you know? Closeness is more like your dad teaching you how to bury a body instead of, I don’t know, your dad helping you with your physics homework or whatever.”

“Crime family, of course.”

“And the last part- Yes. No. I don’t know,” Murphy sighs, leaning back. “It’s not like I have any reference to compare to.”

“Generally parents don’t force their kid to kill a man,” Kevin says. Murphy’s eyes widen, and this time he has to look back down at the laptop to hide a smirk playing on his lips. 

“How did you-”

Oh, right. Murphy hasn’t told him about that in this loop. “It isn’t hard to come to that conclusion,” he reuses a lie, and this time it isn’t even quite a lie either. If Kevin actually gave more care as to what Murphy’s saying, he could definitely pierce together a narrative.

“I see,” Murphy mumbles, diverting his eyes.

Kevin doesn’t add anything more, focusing back on the paper. He doubts Murphy would want to continue this back and forth anyway.

“How many of those questions do you have, anyway?” Murphy asks, and Kevin again hides both his amusement and surprise behind the screen. 

“36, though technically it’s 72,” Kevin absently replies. “Why?”

“Just wondering. Those are some very specific questions.”

“They’re from a study, so yes, they are.”

“So you have a lot more then?”

“Why do you want me to keep asking?” Kevin asks instead of moving onto the next question. Which should be an interesting one to ask, and even more interesting with a little modification to the object.

“Does it matter?”

Not really, he has to admit. “Yes,” he says.

“Curiosity,” Murphy answers. 

Kevin hums, knowing full well he’s hiding more. He briefly considers pushing, just to really know but like he not-said, it doesn’t really matter anyway. “How do you feel about your relationship with your father?”

Murphy looks positively tired at the question. Kevin temporarily stops reading just so he can really observe and burn that image into his mind for a rainy day.

“It’s, again, complicated. No shit, I guess, but well... “ he trails off, fidgeting with the pen on the table, twirling it back and forth between his fingers. “He raised me to take over the business, which I still don’t know if I’m grateful for or not. Traumatised the fuck out of me while he was at it too, definitely not grateful for that part.”

It is interesting in a way, he supposes. But also quite boring, Kevin realises suddenly. He waves his hand, encouraging Murphy to go on anyway.

“Well, he was less of a father and more of a teacher, if anything. Sometimes he was a father, or he acted fatherly-ish toward me, but well. Bla bla bla, sob story childhood. What’s new, am I right?” Murphy ends with a self-deprecating chuckle, even though the smile on his face right now is clearly faked.

“What’s new indeed,” Kevin echoes. “My relationship with Father is practically non-existent. Can’t really remember talking to him much despite living in the same house for 18 years.”

“Is the next question also bringing up childhood trauma?” Murphy jokes.

“No, and it’s not even quite a question either. Like the third closest one,” Kevin says. “Make three true ‘we’ statements each; for instance, ‘We are both in this room feeling . . .'”

“We’re both in this room, that’s for starters,” Murphy shrugs. “Feeling wise, I don’t know.”

“We both got raised poorly,” Kevin adds easily. Murphy grimaces, but he nods. “We both need a therapist.”

“We’re… I don’t know. How are you feeling?”

Kevin thinks on that for a moment. “Fine,” he settles on instead of the not quite but almost nothingness save for the conversation going on right now, and later, the paper he still needs to finish. “Enjoying myself I suppose. Happy, in a way.”

“We’re both feeling happy, in a way then,” Murphy sighs. “We’ve both done illegal shit.”

“Both gotten stitches, according to Sylvia,” Kevin finishes. “You’re feeling happy right now?”

“In a way. Not quite enjoying myself like you apparently are,” Murphy slowly says, like he finds that last part strange. “But yes.”

“Participants did report that they enjoyed this a great deal, so I should not be that surprised.”

“I’m sure they did.”

“I’m also glad you’re enjoying this,” he says.

“You’re not,” Murphy rolls his eyes and finally opens his laptop up again. “Ah, I forgot that was where I left off-”

“Procrastination is another reason why you want to keep going then,” Kevin smiles. Murphy grumbles something under his breath at that, but he doesn’t refute the statement. “Do your work, Murphy.”

He watches as Murphy pulls out the pair of glasses, sliding them on before the typing of the keyboard fills the silence in the room.

The next time something breaks his concentration, Kevin has gotten past the paper which proved to be useless beside introducing him to a few new interpretations, Everett’s one in particular.

He decides that he hates his body and its need for food to keep going. Hating it doesn’t really do anything though, so he puts the laptop aside and stands up, stretching. His shoulders crack, and Kevin didn’t realise how stiff everything else was too. 

How long has he just been sitting there anyway?

Long enough for Murphy to have fallen asleep on his desk at some point, apparently. He hadn’t even realised that had happened, but a part of Kevin is bemused.

Murphy really does consider him a friend then, or at least trusts him enough to carelessly fall asleep. Does he know that Kevin would not hesitate to go to his walk-in closet, get a gun and blow his head off easily?

He must have thought about that. Yet his left arm is propped up, Murphy leaning onto his palm and dozing off. The glasses are askew on his face.

His hand twitches at his side.

The idea has its merit, and a change of pace would certainly do both of them good, to an extent. Not now though, he thinks. That deserves its own day or two, to properly explore what he can actually do when the situation is reserved.

Reading about quantum mechanics, while very _very_ interesting, suddenly seems dull compared to this future plan. Everett and his many-worlds interpretation can wait, Kevin decides.

He doesn’t wake Murphy as he walks to one of the bedrooms, ignoring the hunger and dropping down on the comfortable bed. The looping will take care of that, he thinks, closing his eyes and letting himself fall asleep too.

* * *

The sixteenth time, Kevin wakes up excited. 

He gets out of bed quickly, keeping quiet so he doesn’t wake Jake up. The stairs creak under his weight as he makes his way downstairs, stopping by the living room to open the familiar drawer.

Gun, wallet, jacket. 

He walks out of the safe house with a spring in his steps, waving down the taxi and getting in. Columbia, he says when the driver asks for the address, clarifying the specific entrance just so everything will play out better this time.

They nod and start driving, the speed picking up as the outside blurs together. Kevin leans back in his seat, sparing the ever-shifting streets and buildings a second before deciding to get more comfortable.

It will be a while until they get to the university anyway, and he has nothing to do during that one hour span.

Kevin wastes the time envisioning different scenarios in his head instead. He would love to get out of this unharmed, considering how much of an inconvenience the gash on his arm was not-yesterday.

Oh, he hasn’t even checked that yet.

Kevin carefully puts the gun to the side, using the now free hand to roll up his sleeves instead. It’s dark in the car, but there’s enough light coming through the window for him to see the raised up scar, thick and red. It stands out against his pale skin.

A finger slowly and gently trails the path, up and down and up and down before pressing down in the middle. 

Kevin’s moderately pleased to find that it still sends a jolt of pain through with enough force. He lets the finger stay there for the rest of the ride, applying just enough pressure every now and then to keep him awake and alert.

“We’re here,” the driver says, and Kevin nods. He pulls out Jake’s wallet and pays the needed amount plus some extra, picks the gun up again, and gets out.

The moment the door closes behind him, the taxi speeds off into the distance. He wonders if the driver saw the gun, not that it matters much really. He has no intention of using it on them anyway.

His mind is set on a different target, or targets, Kevin should say, as he walks into Columbia. It’s a different path he takes this time, walking through the memorial park behind the actual library and entering it from there.

He does stop by Allister’s office, gathering the paperwork on the table and throwing it into the trash. It isn’t hard to find a lighter in his office either, next to the horrible pack of cigarettes that he likes.

The smoke from the burning papers is at least not as harmful as cigarette smoke, Kevin thinks, watching as the flame slowly grows larger, consuming more of the works. He throws some gnarly decorations from the wall into there too, before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

That little satisfaction curls deep in him as he continues to the main entrance, slowly and carefully inching the door open. He can see the back of the statue this time, and Kevin knows behind that stand 6 people, 5 he’s planning on killing in the next few minutes.

No one notices when he gets out, moving closer and taking aim. Trevor’s the first to go, considering what he did (will be doing if Kevin leaves him alive) and that is enough to spur Murphy’s men into action, pulling out guns on the opposing family. 

Multiple loud shots, none really coming from his gun. Kevin idles there, the statue doing her job well in hiding his presence from everyone here. 

Almost everyone, he corrects when Anthony rounds the statue, ducking behind her frame. His eyes are frantically darting around until they meet Kevin’s own.

Kevin smiles, raising a finger to his lips in a shushing motion. Stay quiet. 

Just to drive the point home, he aims the gun at Anthony too.

The shots quiet down, and only then does Kevin move to the side, getting a clearer look of the aftermath. Bodies on the floor, as expected, and a stranger still standing.

He tuts, shifting into the right stance and lining up the sight and picture again. Whoever it is doesn’t see this coming, doesn’t even think of turning back to check their surroundings, and goes down easily.

Kevin fires four more shots into the body.

“You can come out now.” 

He hears a whimper before Anthony reveals himself meekly. He’s shaking with his hands up in the sky, his gaze staying firmly on the ground like the concrete steps here are the most interesting things in the world.

His gun stays trained on Anthony as he moves closer to Kevin, stopping a few feet away.

“Anthony, right?” Kevin asks just so he can see how he would react.

He flinches, but slowly nods. Better yet, Anthony doesn’t make a move to question why Kevin knows, which is a step better than Brian.

To be fair, the situation was not like this the last time. 

“My name is Kevin, though I think you have recognised me by now,” he continues, and Anthony nods. “And I think you have also recognised the situation that you’re in right now, no?”

Anthony nods again.

“I asked you a question.”

He jumps. “Yes, I-I have,” Anthony stutters out. “Don’t shoot me, please.”

“I won’t if you behave.” He doesn’t really have the intention to, his trigger finger lying along the side instead of pressing close to the trigger. Kevin doubts Anthony would notice that right now though.

“I will,” he breathes out. “Please don’t-”

“I told you to give me an answer, not to plead for your life.” Kevin chuckles sardonically. “If I wanted to listen to that, well,” he trails off, and Anthony flinches again.

“Right, yes- Sorry.”

“Apology accepted. Take your phone out, slowly. Any rushed movements and I’m emptying the round into your chest.”

“Y-Yes.” Anthony follows, slowly reaching into his pocket and pulling out the phone.

“Call Murphy, would you? And put it on speaker.”

The dial tone rings out, and Kevin counts 4 seconds before Murphy picks up. His voice crackles through the phone, “How did it go?”

Straight to the point, Kevin notes. “Hello Murphy,” he says, and there’s a pregnant pause on his end before Murphy replies.

“What is going on?” he asks, though it reads more as a demand.

Kevin chuckles. “Anthony, why don’t you give us a run down of the events?”

Anthony stammers through, detailing the sudden shot, the resulting fight and his eyes flicker back up to Kevin’s before he describes seeing Raymond’s husband standing there with a gun, clearly having fired the first shot.

Murphy stays silent through all of it, and Kevin does so too, not finding it fitting to interrupt, even though getting described as Raymond’s husband is not a pleasant thing to hear.

“And yeah, that’s-” Anthony awkwardly ends, shifting from foot to foot. “That’s all.”

“What do you want?” Murphy asks.

“I want you to come here, alone,” Kevin says, paraphrasing what Murphy had said. “Leave any weapons behind, and don’t call for backup or anything.” 

“And why would I ever do that?”

“I don’t know,” Kevin shrugs. “Why did you kill a guy at the age of 7? Why don’t you like jazz piano? Why do you want to go to Vietnam? Why have you not shared any of your songs with-”

“I’ll be there in five,” Murphy cuts in, and Kevin smiles. There’s a specific franticness in his tone, not that he can blame Murphy for that.

Before he can bid Murphy goodbye the line has gone dead. Anthony is looking directly at him now, fear mixing with a healthy dose of curiosity in his gaze.

He doesn’t really speak up and ask him any questions though, and Kevin’s fine with the silence covering the place. It has a certain atmospheric mood to it, the only noise beside Anthony’s heavy breathing being the wind blowing through the trees and every now and then a bird chirping.

Fits well with the dead bodies, he decides.

Kevin doesn’t really know how long he stands there with a gun pointed at Anthony, but he’s willing to take Murphy’s word for it and assume five minutes.

“Evening,” he greets when he hears footsteps approaching, walking behind Anthony leisurely so he’s facing forward instead.

Murphy’s there, panting like he has just run here. He’s looking up at Kevin, only staring. “Evening,” he eventually greets back.

He nudges Anthony forward with the barrel. “Pat him down. Be thorough,” Kevin says aloud, and he thinks Anthony gives a quick nod before he rushes over to Murphy.

“Nothing.”

“Good,” Kevin smiles. He descends the steps, taking his time. “Anthony, move aside. More, another step, there we go.”

He stops at the last step. It’s too easy to shoot Anthony right there and then, his body collapsing on the ground with a scream and then silence. Murphy’s eyes are darting between him and the body.

“Let’s walk, shall we?”

Murphy gulps, nodding slowly. He must have so many questions that he’s dying to ask, Kevin muses as he walks beside Murphy. 

Even when the gun is temporarily pointed down at the ground, Murphy doesn’t say anything.

Fair enough, he thinks. “So, how are you?” Kevin starts. 

“Considering the fact that I’m technically currently being held hostage by the man I have been planning to kill for a good 2 months now?”

“Yes.”

“Could be better,” Murphy says.

The fear that’s badly masked by the bravado is intoxicating. The power rush courses through Kevin. “I’m glad to hear that then,” he replies. “Walk to your car.”

Murphy nods, changing course back to the one Kevin remembers following the last loop. It doesn’t take long for the white Rolls-Royce to come into view, and he gestures for Murphy to get into the driver's seat.

He sits down too, momentarily putting the gun down to strap the seatbelt in.

“So,” Murphy carefully says, drawing out the word for longer than necessary. “Where are we going?”

“One of your hideouts, the one that’s across from Central Park.”

“Ok, how do you know that?” Murphy asks, his voice rising. It must be the fact that he’s sitting there and the car is moving and he’s more than confident that Kevin won’t shoot him that some confidence is leaking back into his tone. “And how do you know about all the previous shit you said on the phone?”

Kevin throws a grin at Murphy. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he asks back.

“Yes, I very much would.”

“You’re not in the position to decide that, now are you?”

Murphy sighs. His shoulders drop, his grip on the wheel gets tighter. “No,” he says.

“Good. You’re going to answer some of my questions first, and then maybe I will answer yours,” Kevin says. “Sound reasonable?”

“Fine.”

“How do you feel about me?” 

Murphy blinks. He opens his mouth, and if the situation wasn’t how it is, Kevin would have expected a straight answer with several negative adjectives attached.

But the situation is how it is, and Murphy closes his mouth with a click, actually thinking through and possibly making sense of his emotions.

“I should hate you,” he slowly admits. “It was indifference before, and right now it would make sense if I hated you, but- Have we met before?”

“In a way, you could say,” Kevin shrugs. “You wouldn’t remember anything though, so don’t try.”

“You’re awfully sure of that statement.”

“Well, maybe you would remember something, but chances are low on that.”

“If you say so,” Murphy mutters. The car turns, going through that fancy looking gate before stopping. “We’re here.”

“Let’s go then,” Kevin says, unfastens his seatbelt. He gets out, the gun partially concealed thanks to the jacket pocket. “Don’t try anything.”

“I won’t,” Murphy assures him. 

The process is the same, and soon enough they are in the impressively but also annoyingly fast elevator to go up to the 50th floor. There’s a soft elevator tune playing, a sharp contrast to the now fully-in-view gun he’s holding in his hand that Murphy keeps directing his eyes to. 

He worries too much really, Kevin thinks. If he’s pointing it at the ground then he’s pointing it at the ground, simple as that.

A ding announces their arrival to the top floor, and moments after the door slides open. Murphy unlocks the actual door, pushing that open too and walking in when Kevin tells him to.

The main difference from the last loop is the time, Kevin notes. The view of the night sky is different from up here for obvious reasons, and for a moment he stands there and simply looks at it.

The more he looks, the more stars seem to appear as his eyes get well acquainted with the darkness. Beside him Murphy hums, also caught up in the enchanted view from up here.

“Do you know any constellations?” Kevin asks.

“No. Never been an astronomy kind of guy,” Murphy answers. “Do you?”

“Besides the more navigation-centric ones, not really,” he says. Murphy makes an understanding noise.

The view really is nice here. He walks over to the terrace, breathing in the air that’s a stark difference from everything else below.

Murphy doesn’t follow. Kevin wonders if he’s afraid of heights, and if so, why he thought it fit to buy a penthouse this high up.

“I remember you asking questions,” Murphy says suddenly.

“Is that all?”

“No.”

“Come here,” Kevin says. Murphy hesitates, lingering between the door and Kevin sighs. He walks over, grabbing Murphy’s hand (it’s shaking, he’s shaking, Kevin notes) and tugging him along. “Why did you buy this place?”

“Hideout.”

“You could have bought a cheaper place for a hideout. It didn’t have to be a penthouse 200 meters above ground.”

“Showing off, that too,” Murphy reluctantly says. “It set a price record when the place first opened.”

Kevin chuckles. “What else do you remember?” he asks, genuinely wanting to know. Murphy remembers, and it’s rather clear that it’s a different kind from Jake having nightmares of his death or remembering chess rules. 

“It doesn’t make sense,” Murphy confesses. “It couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not dead.”

The bark of laughter comes as a surprise, and Kevin says, “Tell me.”

“You were tied down to a chair, I had a gun to your head,” Murphy narrates in a daze, his voice as shaky as his hand right now. Kevin doesn’t let go, instead guiding Murphy’s hand to the gun, maneuvering it so that Murphy’s fingers are wrapped around the pistol grip.

This is interesting. A so very interesting development that Kevin just has to dive deeper into.

He feels amazement, surprise, a joyfulness that is also different from anything else.

“You asked me to shoot you,” Murphy continues. “No- you said something before that, then you asked me to shoot you.”

“Do you want to know what I said?” Kevin asks.

Murphy nods, pauses, then shakes his head.

“No, you do. You asked, earlier, didn’t you? And you answered some of my questions, so we’re even now.” Kevin tuts. “You’re not in a position to decide, remember?”

“Kevin,” Murphy grits out.

“It’s fine.” He raises the gun up until the barrel’s pointing at his own head, right between his eyes. And then Kevin lets his hands drop to his side, the gun being held there by Murphy and Murphy alone. “You can decide, this time. You can stop me at any moment.”

“Kevin, this isn’t funny.”

“No, it’s hilarious. You remembered it correctly, by the way,” Kevin says. “A few days ago, I was tied down to a chair, and you did have a gun to my head. And I did ask you to shoot me, and I did say something before that-”

“Kevin, for fuck’s sake!”

“-I told you about me having been there before. And I sang you an opening line, and it went a little something like this: My knees went out, the ground rushed in.”

“The grass went dark and dizzy. I did not stir, I did not dream. I did not dare to dare…” Murphy continues. “I did not dare.” 

And this time Kevin’s there to listen to the whole song, and he doesn’t fall asleep midway, doesn’t think he can right now with this rush of emotions that makes him this alert to everything that’s going on.

“You have a good voice,” Kevin says when it’s finished, and Murphy gives a weak laugh. “Complete this sentence: I wish I had someone with whom I could share . . .”

“My music, isn’t that obvious?”

“You just shared it with me, didn’t you?”

“I wish I had someone else with whom I could share my music,” Murphy corrects. “You?”

“Share about this predicament I’m in.” Kevin grins. “If you were going to become a close friend with,” your partner. “With me. With me, share what would be important for me to know.”

“You know how people joke around with mean nicknames or remarks or whatever? Joking insults, I can’t take that. That’s important enough, right?”

“It is.”

Murphy looks at him, waiting. Kevin stares back, cocking his head at the shimmering unshed tears. He brings his hand up, carefully wiping some of that away. “Tell me what you like about me. Be very honest this time, saying things you might not usually say to someone you just met.”

“Aren’t you going to answer the previous question?”

“Will I ever become close friends with you? After this, after everything?” 

“It’s an if question,” Murphy says, and it makes him laugh.

“So it is.” His answer once upon a time definitely doesn’t apply anymore, so Kevin doesn’t bother repeating it. “I have too many problems that I need to deal with, but instead here I am, having someone pointing a gun at my head and asking some weird questions about each other.”

“At least you’re self-aware,” Murphy says.

He doesn’t think he is. “Perhaps,” Kevin allows. “And I like that you’re interesting. I like that you care, even if you said, in another time, that you don’t. I like that there’s still something good in you, even if you don’t quite see it.”

This sets Murphy laughing, and he says, “Right after what I told you about joking insults, really?”

“My point, exactly. And maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am. Sure, you are the head of the most brutal crime family in NY, but for the people you care about...” Kevin looks down at the scar.

Ah, he hasn’t rolled his sleeves down. That explains why it is so cold.

He probably should roll them down.

“I like that you have hope,” Murphy says as Kevin does so. “You’re so fucking biased, sure, but I like that you see positive things in places you shouldn’t.”

He pauses his action, shrugging before finishing with the sleeves, straightening them one last time. “Do I?”

“I don’t know. Seems like it.”

He does, he supposes. Jake asked him to look into quantum mechanics in the hopes of finding a way to get out, or to at least get in, and Kevin let himself be dragged along for the ride, didn’t he? 

“Fair,” he says. “Share an embarrassing moment in your life.”

“I mistook an important figure for the wrong guy,” Murphy admits. His face is turning red, the beginning of a flush spreading from the tip of his ears down. “Wanted to die that night. So badly.”

“I got into a heated argument only to find out that I was wrong in the end. Never backed down from my incorrect stance though,” Kevin shares. That reminds him of another argument, and he stops his thoughts before they can choose a door. “When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself?”

“Right now. Or at least a few moments earlier,” Murphy chuckles. “I don’t remember when the last time I cried by myself was though.”

Kevin nods. “I don’t either,” he says.

If he could really focus, Kevin could definitely trace back the loops to one of his many useless breakdowns that ended in tears. But right now, he couldn’t bother going through his memories.

Something right now has gotten him tangled up the same way the stars have captured him, not allowing him to focus on anything other than the present. It must be the same with Murphy too, and Kevin doesn’t let himself pause and think too much on it.

Instead, he continues his answer, “Same answer with others. Time is a mess, Murphy.”

“I suppose I cannot fault you for that.”

“No, you can,” Kevin laughs. “There must be a reason I’m here,” and in Jake’s words, “I simply haven’t found it yet. Nor am I in much of a hurry to.”

“Why not?”

“Sometimes you need a break. Tell your partner something that you like about them already.”

Murphy lowers the gun, slowly. Kevin frowns, but he doesn’t say anything. He did say Murphy can decide, after all.

“I like your confidence,” Murphy says. “It isn’t until now that I’m remotely confident in my choice of… not shooting you. That’s not a good example.”

“It’s not. I like your,” he pauses, thinks it through for a moment before continuing, “I like your voice. You should sing more,” Kevin decides.

“Stop-”

“It’s good, you’re good,” he insists. “Music is a good way to express and experience emotions, isn’t it?”

Murphy nods. He looks like he’s about to ask something before thinking better of it, and Kevin shrugs.

“I imagine you can write a full song from tonight.”

“Not just one. So many,” Murphy breathes out. “I don’t think it will ever be enough, though.”

“You haven’t tried yet. What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about?”

Murphy doesn’t give him an answer right away. They stand in silence, Kevin leaning back on the glass wall that is the only thing keeping him from falling off the terrace and Murphy swaying on his feet, not quite stable.

He doesn’t have an answer to say yet, so the silence lasts for a while longer.

“Suicide, I think,” Murphy says. Funny, that was Kevin’s first thought too before he crossed it off the list. “That’s no subject for joking. To even get to that point...” he trails off.

“People dying,” Kevin says, saying the last item that he can possibly think of on his list. He reaches out for the currently useless gun, and Murphy gives easily. “But then again, perhaps not. I have joked plenty about it these days.”

“Considering your circumstances.”

“Death doesn’t hold the same weight to it, now does it?”

Murphy shakes his head. Even the slight movement looks like it will knock him off his balance, and Kevin sighs, switching the safety and putting the gun down on the table.

“Let’s go in,” Kevin says. 

He doesn’t even need to tug Murphy along this time. He follows Kevin easy enough, collapsing on the large sofa in the middle of the room, and Kevin takes the seat next to him, shifting until it’s just right and he’s looking at Murphy.

“You still have more questions?” Murphy cautiously asks, like he’s afraid of Kevin’s answer.

“Not that many, no,” he answers. “We’re approaching the end.”

“Oh.”

It’s still vague enough for Kevin to properly discern Murphy’s feelings on the matter, but it is not an outright rejection, so he asks the next one. “If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven't you told them yet?”

“Well,” Murphy sighs. A small smile plays on his lips, not one of happiness. “You gave me a good experience of that today, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t have to answer, but as a reminder or perhaps as an emphasis, Kevin says, “I did. I’m still doing it.”

“Yes. And I think, well, I know that I wouldn’t regret anything. There’s nothing that needs to be said, really.”

“Sad,” Kevin comments. “And are you honestly expecting me to answer this question?”

Murphy shrugs at the first statement or the second one, or both. “No,” he answers the second one.

“Good,” Kevin says. “Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why?”

“Also nothing. My house,” Murphy vaguely gestures. “Yeah, no. There’s nothing of any value in there. Nothing that can't be replaced, at the very least.”

“If anything in there would forever be lost, then I would save any book on the shelf in my study. First edition, limited run copies, the kind. But I don’t imagine I would really have to face this choice these days, considering the circumstances.”

“That is fair.”

“Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?”

“My dad. You know why,” Murphy says. He’s also back to staring at Kevin again, instead of looking into the general space between them. “How many times have I even told you about him, in total?”

He thinks he’s used to the intense look by now. 

“One too many,” Kevin replies. “My brother. He’s the only one I would consider family anyway, so the question is easier in that aspect. Well, I suppose Raymond counts too, but at this point.”

“Right,” Murphy clears his throat.

“It’s fine,” Kevin says. “Share a personal problem and ask each other’s advice on how they would solve it. Also ask each other to reflect on how you might be feeling about the problem you have chosen.”

“...Can I have some time to think about that?”

“Of course. We’re not actually in the study where there’s a time limit, after all,” Kevin shrugs. “And we have all the time in the day.”

“That we do,” Murphy agrees.

Outside the wind blows, the sound finding its way in through the left open door to the terrace. It breaks what would be serene silence that has covered the penthouse, mixes with the relative darkness where the only lightsource are the stars and the moonlight.

He could turn on the lights, but it would not matter that much anyway.

“My problem is that I might be a workaholic,” Murphy professes. “I’d imagine you are not surprised at all by that.”

“No,” Kevin says, turning his full attention to Murphy instead of the wind. “Answers about your goals are always work related, your greatest accomplishment is work related, so many more.”

“Well, you don’t have to list it out like that.”

“I do, this is a shared exercise.” 

“And what advice might you have?”

“Get the cat you’ve always wanted, go to Vietnam,” Kevin shrugs. “There’s more to life than work. Go and experience that for a change, why don’t you?”

“Easier said than done.”

“And the doing is more of your problem.”

“Touché,” Murphy sighs. “There’s a reflection part too, isn’t there?”

“There is. How are you feeling?” he asks, a ridiculous echo of a question Murphy has asked before.

Murphy thinks on that for a moment. “I’m feeling...” he trails off, struggling with the right words before settling on, “not here.”

“I know.”

“But that’s in general.”

“You don’t have to say more,” Kevin says, touching Murphy’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “I doubt asking for your advice right now would do me any good anyway, but nonetheless, the last question is the last question.”

“Last question?” Murphy repeats slowly.

“Last question,” Kevin confirms. “My problem is that I try not to care about this, I really do and sometimes I’m not succeeding. And I know one day I won’t be able to not care anymore, because one day there will be nothing there to distract me again.”

Rationing happiness.

“And one day, yesterday, and also some day, I will have to find a way out. I have tried, of course,” he continues, the words pouring out at a sudden and surprising speed. “Maybe I will try it tomorrow, and maybe I will try to pursue life one day.”

Murphy hums. Not just a random note drawn out, rather a start of a melody. He pauses momentarily, echoing himself minutes ago “You have hope” to Kevin and it’s so out of left field that Kevin laughs again.

“That’s a statement,” he says when he calms down. “But I guess I can see the advice in that. I do.”

“What happens when you end today?” Murphy asks.

“Life goes on, doesn’t it?” Kevin asks. He knows that: the fight in the warehouse had gone on even after he had passed out.

“Sure,” Murphy says. “But life can’t just suddenly remove you from the equation, right?”

He thinks about it.

He doesn’t let himself think too much about it, instead leaning onto Murphy’s warm body. “At this point, I don’t know what life can or cannot do.”

He knows somewhat. Papers on quantum mechanics, video lectures he has found, all merely theorising about what is vaguely like his situation and then shooting that theory down.

Jake would not like him doing this, Kevin thinks.

A past version of himself would hate him for doing this, Kevin thinks. Where’s that drive for an answer, that curiosity that he once prided himself in?

“Don’t sleep?” Murphy suddenly asks. And all Kevin can really do in the moment is comply, nodding against his shoulder and focusing on that specific request to keep the thoughts at bay.

Don’t sleep, not yet, not until Murphy’s own breathing has evened out.

* * *

The not-seventeenth time, Kevin wakes up with water surrounding him and he clams down on the instinctive first breath.

Panic floods his system. 

There’s the why and the how but none of that matters as much as trying to hold his breath. His body is telling him to kick, to jump, to flail up to the surface yet he’s powerless, unable to do any of those besides not breathing.

Don’t breathe don’t breathe-

Is there anyone out there? Help- He wants to scream, he can’t scream, not when he’s gagged by water.

Don’t breathe. Pray that someone is near, and wait-

Waiting is the worst part. 

His lungs burn. He needs the air, oxygen, desperate for it and Kevin wants out and he wants to go home. Why is he thinking that he can breathe, the denial- no, he can’t. Don’t breathe. His hands move, not strong enough to push himself to the surface, not anymore, not for a while now but it’s enough to wrap around his throat in a blind panic, trying to stop himself from inhaling.

Don’t, don’t.

His mind is going haywire, help-

Breathe, no don’t- but the pressure makes him feel like he’s about to explode and something gives in and Kevin takes a deep, deep breath.

And along with the satisfaction of finally drawing a breath after craving for it for so long, water too fills him. He can feel the weight of it flowing in and through, and he feels even heavier now, floating downward more and more.

It hurts so badly, and he keeps on inhaling more and more water and feeling heavier and going down and down, everything adding up, an exponential disaster curve.

And he feels dizzy.

And then he feels calm, almost like he’s waking up from a deep, long nap.

His vision starts to spot, and he’s pretty sure he’s hallucinating at this point because things that don’t make sense are dancing before him.

It’s getting dark.

* * *

The seventeenth time, Kevin wakes up quietly. His first thought is that his heartbeat feels slower, somehow. Still steady, beating a constant rhythm but it’s just taking its time with its work, leisurely keeping him alive.

His second thought is that lingering question from last time, one that he quickly shuts down. 

Not today, he thinks. 

It’s a day of trying, not a day to have questions that no one can give him an answer to, as far as Kevin’s concerned.

He lays there, not making a move to get out of bed. What is there to try anyway? 

He has kept Jake and Raymond alive once already, and that didn’t work. Kevin doubts doing it again would change the final result.

Jake would know, he thinks. Asparagus, the ridiculous codeword echoes in his head, and Kevin decides on the vague plan for today: waiting for Jake to wake up, and having the time loop talk.

When will Jake wake up, anyway?

Kevin doesn’t know, so he doesn’t bother waiting. Instead he rolls over, burying his head in the pillow and forcing his body to drift off. What he ends up with is a bothersome half-awake half-asleep state, coupled with the occasional tossing and turning when the blanket feels itchy and scratchy instead of normal.

He sighs, getting out of bed and walking downstairs.

Kevin makes himself some coffee, making sure there’s at least one cup worth left for Jake before making himself comfortable in the living room.

The heat of the drink travels from the cup to his hands to the rest of his body.

He takes his time, enjoying the too sweet drink. And in the hours that Jake sleeps, he walks through his garden of memories, busying himself with the not-quite past until the sun comes up.

Last time he didn't even get to sunrise. A shame, Kevin thinks. The view from up there must be breathtaking.

His body complains at some point, and Kevin puts the half-empty cup of coffee down and gets up. Breakfast sounds like a good plan, and he doesn’t bother doing anything too complicated, falling back on French toast.

His plate is almost cleared when Jake wanders down, still wiping the sleep out of his eyes. He yawns loudly, straightening up when he notices the plate where he would usually sit.

Kevin allows a small smile to grace his lips. “Morning, Jake.”

“Heeeey, nice,” Jake shows him two fingerguns, skipping over and sitting down. “Thank you!”

“Think nothing of it,” Kevin says, watching as Jake digs in. He hopes it’s not too cold, but Jake definitely doesn’t have any complaints with the food, so he lets himself relax for one precious moment, just observing.

“God, again, thank you,” Jake says with his mouth open, pauses, swallowing properly before continuing talking. “Sorry- Still, thanks for the breakfast.”

“You’re welcome.” Kevin watches as Jake clears his plate, leaning back on the chair relaxed.. “You’re doing the dishes.”

“Fair enough,” Jake shrugs. “And after that?”

He looks Jake in the eyes. The sudden eye contact, he can tell, shocks Jake but he doesn’t look away even if he squirms uncomfortably from it.

“Asparagus.”

“HOLY FU-”

“Jake, inside voice.”

“-uuuuuck. Holy fuck,” he repeats in a smaller whisper, looking at Kevin in such pure disbelief and joy and surprise that he feels some of it too. “Holy fuck- you’re not kidding, aren’t you?” he asks, and Kevin shakes his head.

“I’m not,” Kevin says that aloud too, just to reaffirm Jake. 

And Jake squeals, a high pitched noise. He’s smiling too wide, or perhaps wide enough given the revelation and he drags Kevin to the couch and questions are being fired at the speed of light and these questions Kevin can do.

“Slow down,” he says anyway.

“Yeah yeah, god-” Jake takes a deep breath. “Ok, yeah, slowing down now. Easing off that pedal, sloooowing down.”

Kevin chuckles. “I’m not going anywhere, it’s fine. You have time.”

“You’re not,” Jake says, with different implication or at least implication that Kevin himself didn’t even realise he had put there. “You’re stuck in a time loop, oh my god- Tell me everything. Or just give me a short summary or whatever, just, tell me.”

Kevin does, going through the first few loops, detailing how he was finally sure about what was (is) happening, skipping the white room inbetween for his own sanity. He tries not to think back to there too much, lest the need to try and return gets the better of him.

Kevin stops at the eighth loop. There’s a choice now, doing what he had done before, or coming clean.

“Kevin?”

He looks up at Jake: His hair is even more of a mess from Jake’s pulling on it during the more action-packed or stressful parts of Kevin’s retelling, and the not yet dried tear streaks on his face only add to the look.

A mirror image from last time, minus the lighting from the bar and the lack of drink.

“Right,” Kevin clears his throat. “Sorry. Where was I?”

“Murphy just, well, emptied a round in you,” Jake answers. “I don’t think you survived...obviously.”

“Obviously,” Kevin echoes. “That’s the end of the eighth loop then.”

Maybe I will try it tomorrow, and maybe I will try to pursue life one day.

“The ninth loop,” he begins. “I saved both of you.”

“What-”

“Raymond brought with him a burner phone. We called for backup, and the car chase, somehow, ended well.”

“I survived then?” Jake asks, confusion laced in his words. Kevin can’t blame him for that. “And you survived, and Capt also survived.”

“As far as I’m concerned, yes.”

“Oh.” Jake says. “But if that’s not- do you have any idea what the actual condition might be then?”

“Not a clue,” Kevin says. He conveniently jumps past loop ten, substituting it with him trying the car chase again and receiving no different result. “After that, well.”

“Well?”

“I didn’t busy myself with keeping you two alive anymore,” Kevin says. Jake doesn’t seem to be surprised, and if anything, he seems to be expecting that.

Kevin asks about that, and Jake laughs. “Well, yeah. Defo was expecting that,” he shrugs. “God knows after that I wouldn’t be doing any of the sort. Partying time for Jake Peralta, baby.”

He laughs at the ridiculous phrase, and Jake can only keep the insulted look on his face for so long before he cracks too.

“You’re horrible,” Kevin says. “I don’t even know why I thought turning to you for help was the best idea.”

“I’m your resident time loop groundhog day expert, Kev,” Jake says, swinging an arm over his shoulder. “Like, if there’s anyone you can turn to, it’s gonna have to be moi of course.”

“Of course.”

“That sounds like sarcasm and I’m going to ignore that entirely.”

“That’s probably for the best.”

Jake nods. “So, what did you do next anyway? Have you been going to a library for the last 7 days?”

“Going to Murphy,” Kevin answers. He can hear what Jake describes as the  _ record scratch, freeze frame _ moment as Jake blinks, processing the sentence.

“Jesus, and how has that turned out for you?”

“Quite fun and informatic, actually,” he shrugs. “He’s interesting to talk to, at the very least.”

“Yeah yeah, going to the enemy instead of dragging me around,” Jake pouts. “What do you even have to learn about him?”

He thinks back on Murphy and Jake, a smirk starting to appear. “He is strangely similar to you.”

“No way.”

“Father problems, making work his whole identity, oversharing. The list goes on.”

“Oh no. Oh, I hate that- why did you have to reveal that to me? Like, firstly, call out but also TMI Kevin.”

“Well, we would have had to talk about Murphy sooner or later anyway,” Kevin says. At Jake’s questioning glance, he continues. “He remembers, more clearly than you ever did.”

“Huh,” Jake says. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“It caught me by surprise too, believe me.”

“God, this is better than anything groundhog day could ever offer me,” Jake breathes, riding high on every bit of information Kevin divulges, and taking Kevin along for the ride. “Ok, what have I already told you the first time you told me this?”

He flips through the loop, replaying moments before shrugging. “You told me to look into how this works, and maybe that would be a way to break out. Or at the very least, let you break in.”

“Smart, not-really-past me.”

“Of course,” he says, the words not dripping with sarcasm this time.

“And did you find anything?”

“If there was anything remotely helpful for my position that actually worked, everyone would be talking about it now. But no,” Kevin sighs. “It’s all hypothesis and theory.” 

“Fuck,” Jake says. He pauses for a moment, looking deep in thought. His fingers keep snapping at random intervals and Kevin lets him be.

It feels strangely nice, just telling Jake everything as it is.

“Do you even want to get out?” Jake asks slowly. “Like, yeah, at first there was that attempting thing, which was hella cool by the way, but right now.”

“I will want to get out one day,” Kevin answers. “Infinity sounds dreadful.”

“It does,” Jake agrees. “You know, Murphy’s definitely a part of this equation too. You said he remembered things.”

“Of course he is,” Kevin sighs. “He stayed alive in loop nine.”

“Wait, you think we need to kill the guy?”

“Is that not what you’re suggesting?”

“No- there’s more than just life and death, Kevin,” Jake explains. “Like, maybe we just need to capture him, you know? Is it like a stopping Murphy kinda game too?”

“I wouldn’t know. Perhaps,” Kevin says. “It seems more promising than anything, to be honest.”

“Yeah. I’m surprised you didn’t get to that conclusion sooner,” Jake chuckles. “Oh wait- Does this mean that I’m smarter than you?”

“Hardly,” Kevin says good-naturedly. “But if the thought helps you fall asleep at night then don’t let me stop you from having it.”

“Rude.”

“You insulted my intelligence first.”

“Rude, the sequel!” Jake jokes. “Do you want to try it today?”

“Try what, capturing him?”

“What else?”

Kevin shrugs. “Maybe not,” he says slowly.

The gun is in the drawer, killing Murphy would surely be easier. But Jake is Jake, and Jake also has a point so Kevin sighs, leaning back on the couch.

“Hey, that is totes fair and valid, honestly.”

“I will try your way tomorrow, maybe. When I have a better plan for how I'm even going to do this.”

“Fair enough,” Jake says. “What do you want to do today then?”

Kevin takes a look at the clock. They have been talking for longer than he thought, but it will still be another two hours before Raymond gets here. Plenty of time to ditch the safe house.

He tells Jake as much, and Jake grins. He complains when Kevin removes all the bugs on him (in my hair too?!) but the grin stays firmly in place as he puts on a jacket. “Ok, hmmm. What can we do?”

“We went to an escape room last time,” Kevin offers. He opens the door, holding it for Jake before walking out himself too.

“Niceeeee,” Jake drawls. “But also damn, I was just about to suggest that. Ok, what else is there then? Museums? Nah, I would just be bothering you and we will be abso-fucking-lutely miserable. Sorry, Kev.”

“It’s fine.” 

“Arcade maybe? Well, I don’t think you would even enjoy that, but-”

“We can go to an arcade,” Kevin cuts in before Jake can go on another ramble. Usually it is entertaining (and in a way, endearing) to listen to, but this ramble specifically would only put him in an anxious state and they certainly don’t need that right now. “If it’s not fun, there are a million different places we can choose from.”

“Stop being right all the time,” Jake returns. “Arcade it is.”

He waves a taxi down, Jake fires off an address and they’re on their way. Jake keeps the conversation alive throughout the ride, and Kevin pins the fact that the ride seems so short on that.

“Have you ever even been in an arcade?” Jake asks him when they get out.

Kevin shrugs, looking at the place Jake has chosen. Flashy, he thinks, seeing the neon red and green and blue lights. “No.”

“Oh, this will be fun,” Jake says, pulling him in.

Kevin tries a variety of available games under Jake’s command, somehow winning Jake a plushie at a claw machine and then continuing said winning streak until there are too many plushies for Jake to hold.

Jake gives some of them to some kids, but he adamantly hugs the first creature (a pokemon, Jake had explained before they inserted the coin in) that Kevin had managed to get. 

They move on when it’s clear that if Kevin continues, they will only have an abundance of prizes and it’s only the start of the trip. Jake tugs him to the line of arcade machines next, inserting coins and choosing two players before explaining the rules quickly.

The sound of rapid button clicking from both of them as the characters on screen move is pleasing. And even if his fingers ache from all of this, he is having fun playing with Jake.

Which is a surprise, honestly. Kevin could never have seen himself enjoying these, but the fast paced design has its appeal. His heart is racing without needing to hold onto a real gun, merely aiming at fake targets on screen and pressing the toy trigger.

“God damn, Kevin!” Jake gasps, holding his fist up to him. Kevin looks at that for a moment before remembering that he needs to touch his fist to Jake’s own. “You’re a natural at these, which is like, so unfair.”

Kevin shrugs. “Get better,” he says, handing Jake the tape of orange tickets that, as Jake tells him, can be exchanged for a price at the counter. Jake has his eyes on a silly cap with a propeller on top and with how fast they’re gathering up tickets it won’t be too long before Jake’s wearing that thing.

“Ouch,” Jake giggles. “But like, for real though, you’re doing so good at these. Like, who gave you the right? I bet you have never touched anything game related in your life yet here we are.”

“I haven’t, no.”

“Yeah, rub it in, why don’t you?”

Kevin smirks. “I will, thank you very much.” 

“Bet I can find a game here that you are absolutely horrible at too,” Jake continues.

“You’re welcome to try.”

Jake tries. He laughs at him when he fails at those driving games, and Kevin makes a joke about the car chase and Jake’s laughter fades somewhat before he changes topic. 

Strange, Kevin notes, but he doesn’t mention it, merely letting Jake pull him to a different game.

“Alright, DDR. You cannot be good at this!” Jake says with the utmost confidence that makes Kevin want to win this just so he can really spite Jake. “And I’m even gonna have some mercy on you and choose an easy song.”

“Mercy on yourself, more like,” Kevin corrects. Jake laughs, going through the list on the screen before settling on one.

Jake is clumsy, he knows this. But right now when he’s concentrated on hitting the arrows just right, the fact that Jake has two left legs doesn’t compute.

He still beats Jake in the end, naturally. The music is not to his usual taste, and the arrow formatting is hard to get used to at first but in the end it’s all hopping and jumping and that Kevin’s very good at. 

Learning the Galliard pays off, he has to say. He certainly didn’t use that knowledge for its intended purpose, but when Jake looks at him with wide eyes, a bead of sweat rolling down his face, it is worth it.

“H-how?!” Jake pants out, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Kevin what?!”

Kevin grins, and doesn’t answer. Jake groans, mumbling something under his breath and moving to choose a different song. More arrows at a more complex, faster rhythm. More Jake jumping in joy when he beats Kevin’s score and Jake huffing when he loses until they’re both too tired to go for another round.

“Enough dancing for the day, I think,” Kevin says when Jake’s swaying in his place, needing to hold onto the handle behind them to keep up. “Come on. We can get your hat and find a nice place to cool down.”

“That sounds good,” Jake manages to get out. Kevin chuckles, letting Jake lean on him as they walk to the counter. “...You had fun, right?”

“I did, don’t worry.”

“That’s good,” Jake breathes. “So, any preference on drinks? There are probably some really fancy cafés around here.”

“That would be nice, yes.”

“Cool. Cool cool cool, totes cool.”

They find one easily, and the staff only gives Jake one weird look at the propeller cap. The majority of the weird looks are given when Jake orders.

“Just a Café au lait,” Kevin says when it’s his turn. Minutes later they have their drinks, Jake’s glass somehow still having a familiar light brown colour despite his order.

The moment when he takes a swig of his drink and Jake sips his through a straw is the only moment of calmness for the rest of the day.

There’s bowling (both of them are horrible but Jake is somehow just a bit better) and mini golf (Kevin could have taken them to a proper golf course but Jake declined) and laser tag (which is a blast, in Jake’s words) and they collapse at the end of the day in a hotel suite, Jake giggling at nothing.

He’s still so full of energy. Kevin doesn’t know how, doesn’t really want to know when now he just wants to lay down on the too big bed in the middle of the room.

“Oh, you’re done for the day already?” Jake asks, shrugging off the jacket. Kevin doesn’t bother taking his off. 

He nods, and Jake shrugs. 

“Fair enough, I guess.”

“You’re not sleeping anytime soon then, I’m taking it?”

“Nah. Probably gonna order something from room service and binge a dumb Netflix show. Don’t worry, I’m going to keep the noise down.”

“Thank you.”

Jake grins, jumping on the bed and bouncing up just a bit. “Oh, that’s nice,” he says, scooting closer to the headboard, leaning back. “Goodnight, Kevin.”

“You too, whenever you decide to go to sleep.”

“Who knows? Maybe the coffee crash will just kill me in one hit.”

“As expected,” Kevin agrees. Jake throws a spare pillow at him, landing right at his face and blocking out the light.

He sighs, shifting until he’s comfortable. He can hear Jake saying something on the phone, and sooner than later the words are drowned out by the sound of the television starting. 

And that is drowned out by Kevin’s own tiredness too as he drifts off.

* * *

The eighteenth time, Kevin wakes up with a plan. 

Kind of.

It’s a mix of a plan, all tangled up from previous (recent) experiences, but Jake wants him to try to capture Murphy because Jake wants him to get out, and a small part of him also wants to get out, so it’s a win-win.

So Kevin gets out of bed quietly, making sure not to wake Jake up. He does spare Jake a look before he properly exits the bedroom though, and the fondness from yesterday rears its head, reminding him of its existence.

He moves on quickly before Jake has any chance of waking up.

Gun, wallet, jacket. The usual.

He walks out of the safe house, waving down the taxi and getting in. He gives the driver the specific address, leaning back and shifting until he’s sitting comfortably for a one hour drive.

An hour passes by considerably fast. Before Kevin knows it, he’s paying the fee and getting out, closing the door behind him. The taxi speeds off then, leaving him alone to his business.

He enjoys a slow walk through the memorial park, quiet and slightly cold despite the jacket. The wind is picking up, he notes, rustling the trees in the distance. 

He bids goodbye to the outside temporarily, entering the library and trying to keep on the correct path. If this is what it takes to stop the looping, then he probably shouldn’t burn Allister’s office.

Well, maybe a little arson- No.

Kevin sighs, continues walking to the main entrance, then slowly and carefully inches the door open. He can see the back of the statue this time, and Kevin knows beyond that stand 6 people. None of them will be leaving the university alive.

No one notices when he gets out, moving closer and taking aim. Trevor’s the first to go to keep it consistent and maybe he still hates him for slashing at him. That is enough to trigger a little chain reaction that spurs Murphy’s men into action, pulling out guns on the opposing family. 

Multiple loud shots, none really coming from his gun. Kevin idles there, the statue doing her job well in hiding his presence from almost everyone. 

On time, Anthony rounds the statue, ducking behind her frame. His eyes are frantically darting around until they meet Kevin’s own.

Kevin raises a finger to his lips in a shushing motion and aims the gun at Anthony with his other hand to drive the point home. Stay quiet. 

Anthony nods with both of his hands covering his mouth, though even with that Kevin can still hear the rushed breathing.

The shots quiet down, and only then does Kevin move to the side, getting a clearer look of the aftermath. Bodies on the floor, as expected, and a stranger still standing.

He shifts into the right stance and lines up the sight and picture again. The guy doesn’t see this coming, doesn’t even think of turning back to check his surroundings, and goes down easily.

Kevin fires four more shots into the body, not really sure why. “You can come out now,” he calls. 

He hears a whimper before Anthony reveals himself meekly. He’s shaking with his hands up in the sky, his gaze staying firmly on the ground like the concrete steps here are the most interesting things in the world.

His gun stays trained on Anthony as he moves closer to Kevin, stopping a few feet away.

“So, Anthony,” Kevin starts, ignoring the predictable flinch at him knowing his name. “My name is Kevin, yes, that Kevin. Don’t call me Raymond’s husband.” 

He waits for Anthony to nod before continuing. “And I think you have also recognised the situation that you’re in right now, no?”

Anthony nods again.

“I asked you a question.”

He jumps. “Yes, I-I have,” Anthony stutters out. “Don’t shoot me, please.”

“Not yet,” Kevin shrugs. “Maybe if you behave.”

“I will,” he breathes out. “Please don’t-”

“I told you to give me an answer, not to plead for your life.” Kevin chuckles sardonically. “If I wanted to listen to that, well,” he trails off, and Anthony flinches again.

“Right, yes- Sorry.”

“Apology accepted. Take your phone out. Call Murphy, put it on speaker. You can do that, right?”

“Y-Yes.” Anthony follows, frantically reaching into his pocket and pulling out the phone. His fingers are shaking as he enters the number, doing what Kevin asked.

The dial tone rings out, and Kevin counts 4 seconds before Murphy picks up. His voice crackles through the phone, “How did it go?”

“Hello Murphy,” he says easily, and there’s a pregnant pause on his end before Murphy replies.

“What is going on?” he asks, though it reads more as a demand.

Kevin chuckles. “Anthony, why don’t you give us a rundown of the events?”

Anthony stammers through, detailing the sudden shot, the resulting fight and his eyes flicker back up to Kevin’s before he describes seeing him standing there with a gun, clearly having fired the first shot.

Murphy stays silent through all of it, and Kevin does so too, not needing to interrupt.

“And yeah, that’s-” Anthony awkwardly ends, shifting from foot to foot. “That’s all.”

“What do you want?” Murphy asks.

“I want you to come here, alone,” Kevin says, paraphrasing what Murphy had said. “Leave any weapons behind, and don’t call for backup or anything.” 

“And why would I even do that?”

“I don’t know,” Kevin shrugs. “Why did you kill a guy at the age of 7? Why don’t you ever share your music with anyone? Why can you not take a joke insult? Why are you so attached to your work to the point of-”

“I’ll be there in five,” Murphy cuts in, and Kevin smiles. There’s a specific franticness in his tone, not that he can blame Murphy for that.

Before he can bid Murphy goodbye the line has gone dead. Anthony is looking directly at him now, fear mixing with a healthy dose of curiosity in his gaze.

At this point he knows Murphy will show up unarmed, so Kevin shrugs and presses the trigger.

Anthony screams.

He still has more than enough bullets to finish the job, but his hand lowers anyway, the gun remaining pointed at the ground. The bullet is through the chest, and blood is already pouring out, seeping through the clothing and Anthony’s hand and painting the concrete steps red.

Kevin walks closer. Anthony’s still screaming, and the noise keeps going as he crouches down, carefully prying Anthony’s hand away from the wound.

At least Anthony doesn’t put up a fight, even in this situation. Kevin appreciates that as much as he appreciates the blood flow.

By the time Murphy comes, the screaming has quieted down into low whimpering partly due to Kevin holding the barrel of the gun in Anthony’s mouth.

“Evening,” he greets when he hears footsteps approaching, standing up and directing his attention away from Anthony to Murphy.

He’s just standing there, panting like he has just run here. He’s looking up at Kevin, only staring. “Evening,” Murphy eventually greets back.

He descends the steps, taking his time. The gun is trained on Murphy now that he doesn’t need to use it to gag Anthony.

Kevin stops at the last step. 

Murphy’s eyes are darting between him and Anthony, still whimpering and gasping in pain. 

“Let’s walk, shall we?”

Murphy gulps, nodding slowly. He must have so many questions that he’s dying to ask, Kevin muses as he walks beside Murphy. 

“So, how are you?” Kevin starts. 

“Considering the fact that I’m technically currently held hostage by a man who I have been planning to kill for a good 2 months now?”

“Yes.”

“Could be better,” Murphy says.

The fear that’s badly masked by the bravado is intoxicating. The power rush courses through Kevin. “I’m glad to hear that then,” he replies. “Walk to your car.”

Murphy nods, changing course back to the one Kevin remembers following the last loop. It doesn’t take long for the white Rolls-Royce to come into view, and he gestures for Murphy to get into the driver's seat.

He sits down too, momentarily putting the gun down to strap the seatbelt in.

“So,” Murphy carefully says, drawing out the word for longer than necessary. “Where are we going?”

“The precinct, obviously. And you’re going to turn yourself in once we get there.”

“Obviously,” Murphy mutters. It must be the fact that he’s sitting there and the car is moving and he’s more than confident that Kevin won’t shoot him that he asks, “How do you know about all the previous shit you said on the phone?”

Kevin throws a grin at Murphy. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he teases.

“Yes, I very much would.”

“You’re not in the position to decide that, now are you?”

Murphy sighs. His shoulders drop, his grip on the wheel gets tighter. “No,” he says.

“Don’t worry, I will tell you anyway,” Kevin says. “You told me about it.”

Murphy blinks. He opens his mouth, probably with an objection ready on his tongue before clicking it closed again. He hums, thinking.

“Have we met before?” Murphy asks hesitantly.

“In a way, you could say,” Kevin shrugs. “Time loop makes everything harder to give a straight answer to.”

“What?”

Kevin laughs. “You don’t believe me, of course,” he says matter-of-factly. “I don’t blame you for that either..”

“I- What?” Murphy repeats himself.

“I’m not insane, if you’re wondering,” he continues with a laugh. “I mean, how else would I know that you write your own songs and have a great singing voice? Or that you really want to go to Vietnam?”

“How- You-” Murphy stutters. “That’s impossible.”

“I literally just listed off your personal information in this moment and more during the phone call, things you haven’t ever shared with anyone,” Kevin says. “I can tell you about your childhood trauma with your dad too, if you want. I did mention him forcing you to kill a guy at 7, didn’t I?”

“Fuck.”

Kevin chuckles. “Don’t let this affect your concentration now. I don’t want you to crash this car.”

“I won’t,” Murphy distractedly whispers. “What the fuck?!”

“We have a while before you reach the precinct. And you have a long while in prison to process all of this, so don’t worry too much,” Kevin says. “I will even visit you every now and then.”

“Glad to know that then.”

Murphy doesn’t say anything for a good while. His eyes are still on the road at least, turning at the right point and not swerving the car around.

Kevin hums the song under his breath, taking note of how that alone makes Murphy’s shoulders relax just a bit more. He hums it louder then, and Murphy’s shakily forming words along, nothing too impressive in terms of vocals but he doesn’t look as taut as a string anymore.

The car stops in front of the precinct.

“So,” Murphy says. “Turning myself in?”

“Turning yourself in,” Kevin nods. “It’s better this way, trust me.”

“Why? What happened… the last time you did this?”

“Do you really want to know?”

Murphy gives a weak laugh. “Maybe not. Ignorance is bliss, is how it goes, right?”

To be honest, not that many bad things have happened to Murphy really. Still, Kevin flashes him a grin, sharp and all teeth. “It is. Will you cooperate, or do I have to use the rope and Ketamine you have in the car?”

“How do y- oh, right. Cooperate,” he sighs.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Still, Murphy doesn’t make any move to get out of the car. Kevin waits for him to pull the car key out, or unfasten the seatbelt, anything, but Murphy sits there, too still to the point that he could be mistaken for a statue.

Kevin sighs. “Sing me another song?”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

Murphy shrugs. “Could this be any more obvious? It just goes up and down,” he starts slowly, almost hesitant. “Do you wish I was more curious that you haven’t been around?”

His foot is tapping to a melody as Murphy continues. “Good morning Mr. Baxter. I’ll take you to the 19th floor”

Kevin just let himself listen, remembering the lyrics and the tempo, burning that into his memory. The song goes on, Murphy’s voice getting louder and Kevin notes that his eyes have slipped closed. 

“You win again! You win again, you win again,” the words fade off, Murphy breathing heavily after that. Kevin watches as he slowly composes himself again, taking a deep breath in and out, and another. “I- We should go.”

“Perhaps,” Kevin says. “Come on then.”

He opens the door, getting out, walking over to Murphy’s side and opening that too. Murphy nods at him as a small thank you, dragging himself out of the seat. They walk past the front desk that has no one there (night shift, Kevin sighs) and to the elevator. 

The door slides open, and Murphy walks in, Kevin following. He presses the button for the correct floor, watching as the door slides closed. 

A part of Kevin is ready for his ears to get the same feeling when a plane is taking off or landing again, but the elevator is at a normal speed as it goes up. The next time the door slides open, he’s looking at the bullpen and the table set up that Kevin has gotten the chance to familiarise himself with after multiple visits to pick up Raymond.

He had thought that there wouldn’t be so many familiar faces though, night shift and all. But Amy and Rosa are there, talking to each other at Amy’s desk with their backs turned toward him.

Kevin lets his hand rest on Murphy’s shoulder, guiding him out, stopping a few steps behind Rosa and clearing his throat.

Multiple things happen in the next three seconds: Amy jumping in her seat, Rosa whipping back and in an instant having her knife to Murphy’s neck and Kevin almost laughing aloud. 

“Kevin?!” That’s Amy, confusion and surprise clear in her voice. “Why are you here? Where’s Jake- why is Murphy with you? What’s going on?”

“Murphy, you son of a bitch.” That’s Rosa, gritting her teeth as she walks closer, staring Murphy down. “What are you doing here with Kevin?”

“Both of you, calm down,” Kevin sighs. “Rosa, knife down. I mean it.”

Rosa glances at him, then she puts it back in her pocket in a swift motion. “Explain.”

“Murphy’s coming willingly with me to turn himself in.”

“But no- that doesn’t make any sense-” Amy stutters. “Why would he, you, do that?”

All eyes turn to Murphy now. He looks considerably less nervous at least, his eyes flickering to Kevin once before staring at Amy. “Well, after some calculating, turning myself in seems much more beneficial.”

“Murphy,” Rosa growls, warning.

“He’s telling the truth,” Kevin says, stopping any potential violence from happening. While that would be interesting, it wouldn’t turn out good for any of them right now. “Can one of you restrain him now?”

“On it.” Murphy hisses when Amy twists his hands behind his back, putting the handcuffs in place with a click. “I will handle the paperwork on this too, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t,” Rosa replies. “Kevin, a word?”

“Of course.”

She leads him to the break room, pushing him down on one of the seats. “Talk.”

“What’s there to talk about? Murphy turned himself in, everything is over now, isn’t it?”

“You’re out of the safe house, you have Jake’s gun in your pocket and Murphy is voluntarily getting captured,” Rosa says, leaning down at eye level. “You’re not telling us something.”

Kevin raises an eyebrow. “I’m not,” he agrees.

“So, talk.”

“Tomorrow, maybe? Or at least after I get some sleep, it’s too early for this.”

“We have coffee.” The knife from before is out again, touching his throat around the same place Murphy would position his own knife when that situation happens. “Don’t think just because you’re you that I would hesitate.”

“I don’t think that at all,” Kevin says. “I do mean it though. I’m about to crash from a minor adrenaline rush, and it is,” he glances at the clock. “5 in the morning.”

Rosa stares at him longer, before she grunts. “Fuck. Lay down on the sofa. I’m waking you up the moment Captain Holt gets here.”

“Thank you.”

“This is merely because of your crash.”

“I know. Thank you anyway.”

Rosa rolls her eyes, putting the knife away. “You have two hours.”

The couch in the room is not the most comfortable thing in the world, but Kevin makes do. And even if a part of him says this won’t work, he tries not to listen to that anyway.

* * *

The nineteenth time, Kevin hopes he’ll wake up in the 99th precinct. 

He doesn’t, of course. The white ceiling with that particular stain stares at him. Beside him Jake’s sleeping, and further on there’s the alarm clock. All familiar sights, as it is.

Kevin sighs.

He gets out of bed, walking downstairs. The stairs creak with every step, filling in the silence of the safe house. The opening and closing of the drawer fills in the silence of the safe house.

Capturing Murphy doesn’t work. He had hoped that it would.

Whatever.

Jacket, wallet, gun.

Taxi, and he doesn’t bother saying Columbia. Instead Kevin chooses the street corner where he knows the white Rolls-Royce will be parked.

The ride draws out, but at the same time it is too fast and in the blink of an eye he’s paying the fee and getting out. The car is right there, and from here he can see Murphy through the windshield, on his phone.

He hasn’t noticed Kevin.

His steps bring him closer to the car, one hand holding the gun and the other relaxed by his side. The door is unlocked and he easily opens it, taking in Murphy’s surprised look for a moment before reaching in, taking a hold of the collar of his shirt.

Kevin pulls him out, turns and has Murphy pressed flush against the wall instead. The gun is positioned to Murphy’s forehead, and he stares into his eyes.

“K-Kevin?!” he gasps, squirming against the grip. Kevin presses the gun forward, harder and any movement stops.

“Hello, Murphy,” Kevin smiles.

He doesn’t think he has killed Murphy before.

First time for everything.

One to the head, two to the chest. Kevin moves back, and the lifeless body of Murphy slides down onto the ground. The wall is now painted red, and so is the pavement.

Kevin lets the gun fall down too, right on Murphy’s body. The blood from the head wound is flowing down, and he crouches down, tracing the shape of Murphy’s face, slowly getting colder as time passes.

His fingers are slightly tainted with the blood now, and he wipes some of it on Murphy’s shirt.

Murphy’s eyes are sunken back into the skull, the only way Kevin can estimate how long he has been here, watching a dead body. His lips have also faded to a pale colour, and Kevin doesn’t need to check to know the state of his fingernails and toenails is the same.

Kevin reaches into the jacket, taking out Murphy’s wallet and replacing it with Jake’s one. Raymond will find this whenever he decides to check on the tracker, and he doesn’t think Murphy’s dead body is a bad gift.

At that point rigor mortis would have set in too, he bets.

He doesn’t plan to stick around for that. 

Kevin stands up again, sparing Murphy’s corpse one last look before he gets into the car, turning the key. The drive to the other side of Central Park is short, and he takes the turn through the fancy gates.

He walks inside, stopping by the front table. Kevin handles the conversation easily, saying Adam when his name is asked and sliding over the card from Murphy’s wallet.

There are more additional questions that Kevin has the answer to, and sooner than later the card is slid back with an additional key. He nods in thanks, walking over to where the private elevator is and pressing the button.

The door slides open. He walks in, choosing the 50th floor and letting the elevator take him up at a neck breaking speed.

When Kevin pushes the door open and steps in the penthouse, he lets out a relieved breath. The night sky greets him through the glass windows, and the moonlight illuminates the room, casting it in a hazy silvery light.

He makes himself a Manhattan. Murphy might not have any actual food here besides canned stuff, but he does have an expensive line up of alcohols. Just what Kevin needs right now, honestly.

The drink is smooth, and the starry night from up here is incredible. He sits down on one of the seats outside and shivers slightly from the wind, but doesn’t bother with getting up again and fetching a blanket.

Someone from the 99th precinct will get here sooner or later, Kevin thinks. The camera must have picked up on him killing Murphy, and tracing him here won’t be difficult at all.

The sun is starting to rise, the clouds looking more red than white. The skyline is set ablaze with the same vibrant red and orange and gold, and when the first ray of sunlight reaches him, Kevin relaxes, sinking further into the soft chair.

His eyes slip closed, and Kevin lets himself get some sleep, knowing he will wake up in the safe house again.

* * *

The twentieth time, Kevin opens his eyes. For a moment he expects to see something else other than the usual white ceiling, but that fleeting hope gets extinguished quickly. 

Killing Murphy doesn’t work. Letting him live doesn’t work and capturing him doesn’t work either. Jake and Raymond dying doesn’t work, and Jake and Raymond staying alive doesn’t work either.

Him being alive doesn’t work. Him dying doesn’t work either.

He considers trying to go through all the possible combinations of dead and alive between the four variables, yet a part of him knows that won’t work either.

Nothing is working.

He feels like nothing. He feels alone.

Kevin gets out of bed, walking downstairs. He retrieves the gun easily, but instead of walking out, something in him is telling him to walk up again.

Why does he feel alone?

Jake’s sleeping calmly, half-hugging the spare pillow when he re-enters the bedroom. Despite all the noise Kevin must have caused, especially from the stairs, Jake doesn’t seem to be waking up any time soon.

He will make sure Jake doesn’t wake up any time soon.

Kevin presses the trigger three times. The blood dyes the pillows and blanket. 

If it wasn’t for the blinking alarm clock casting light on the puddle, highlighting the actual crimson hue, he would have assumed that the liquid was merely black, even under the moonlight that has creeped in through the blinds.

He’s breathing heavily. Kevin struggles with his next step, his legs not quite obeying his order to move, to walk away from Jake’s body.

Jacket, wallet.

He waves the taxi down, giving the same address he had given not-yesterday. And throughout the ride, he fidgets with the gun despite knowing he shouldn’t.

His left hand is gripping the pistol grip too tight. His trigger finger’s trailing the frame, up and down along the barrel. It’s cold to the touch, Kevin notes.

The driver seems tense, he also notes. Fair enough, but they haven’t made any move to call the police, stop the car or throw a wrench to his plans so Kevin lets them be. He pays the fee without any fuss, gets out and finds a certain amusement at how fast the taxi drives away.

His eyes follow the taxi for a moment, before focusing on Murphy’s car. He knows Murphy’s sitting there, on his phone dealing with matters Kevin doesn’t pretend to understand. He stalks closer to the car, opening the door to Murphy’s side with ease and reaching in.

The collar of his shirt has a nice texture under his grip. Murphy’s phone falls down, making a sound as it collides with the ground.

“Kevin?!”

He pushes Murphy against the wall and fires the gun. Blood pours from the wound right in the middle of his head, following the shape of his face downward. His mouth is hanging open, and some of the blood flows in. Some runs past his eyes where it parts at the bridge of his nose, some drips down to his shirt.

Some catches on Kevin’s arm. It’s neither a slow or fast drip, the viscosity of the blood making it just so that the rhythm matches up with his own breathing.

Kevin pulls his arm back, letting the body drop with a thud. He wipes the blood off on Murphy’s leather jacket before turning on his heels, walking back to the car.

Get in. Close the door.

Seatbelt.

Turn the key and press on the pedal. 

He knows the way back to his own house, and the ride back won’t be long at all. Kevin doesn’t have the key on him right now, but he knows where he puts his spare so it won’t be a problem.

It’s a smooth journey back, no interruptions. Soon enough he’s making his way up the steps, opening the door gently with a click.

Walking into his home doesn’t have the same feeling that Kevin was expecting. Instead it feels foreign, more like he has broken into a stranger’s house even if he knows about the paintings on the walls or the specific shade of paint they had chosen after some back and forth.

Everything here has an intimate history with him, with Raymond and him. When they first bought the place, the house had undergone a full renovation and they had transformed it into their home.

He feels like he’s intruding. 

Sounds of quick small steps make Kevin look away from one of the paintings that he could have sworn wasn’t there before, and Cheddar comes into view. His tongue is hanging out as he races toward him, a familiar picture that greets him whenever he gets back from work.

Kevin’s prepared for Cheddar to collide against his leg, scratching at his pants. 

Instead Cheddar stops just in front of him, tilting his head like he’s confused. He moves back slowly, and to Kevin’s surprise, bares his teeth and starts barking.

Why? Is it because of the scent of blood that plagues him, even when none really got on him?

No, Raymond has come home in a worse state before, and Cheddar hasn’t behaved like that. He’s about to shush Cheddar before he wakes Raymond up, but that’s too late when the light at the stairs suddenly turns on.

Raymond’s footsteps, and then Raymond’s voice sounds out. “Cheddar?”

Kevin swears under his breath, straightening up. He closes the door behind him, locking it again. He hides the gun behind his back, plastering on a smile and waiting until Raymond reaches the ground floor.

His pajamas are wrinkled, like he has been tossing and turning in his sleep. The initials RJH are almost impossible to make out with how the folding has hidden part of the words.

“Kevin? What are you doing here?” Raymond asks the moment he sees him, his voice full of both surprise and what Kevin can only describe as anger. “You should be in the safe house.”

“I should be,” Kevin acknowledges, walking closer to Raymond.

“Then pray tell why are you here? Is Peralta with you too? What is the meaning of thi-”

He fires quickly, and Raymond’s questioning is cut off by him biting down on his lip, keeping the scream in. He doesn’t collapse, his hand having quickly thrown to the side, using the wall as support.

Raymond’s staring at him, shellshocked and still alive.

Kevin doesn’t want to see that look anymore.

He keeps shooting into Raymond’s chest until he all but falls backwards, his head hitting the second step of the stairs. And even then Kevin doesn’t stop, emptying the rounds into Raymond until it’s clear that he’s merely firing at a corpse now.

Cheddar has stopped barking, instead biting at his leg. It doesn’t hurt, even though he knows it should: Cheddar’s teeth are sharp and can easily break skin.

The gun clicks when he expects the bang. Emptied, finally.

Kevin throws it down on the floor, and he must have thrown it hard enough for the gun to bounce up once before it finally settles with a clack. He bends down, picking Cheddar up by the collar and walking to the guest bedroom, dropping him down there and locking the door before he has the chance to scutter out.

The sound of scratching at the door and barking is still clear though.

He doesn’t want to hear it.

Kevin walks to the vinyl player next, going through the stack of available records next to it. He eventually settles on Chopin, putting it on and placing the tonearm to the disc. The notes echo through the empty house, drowning out Cheddar.

Opus 9, Kevin’s mind immediately fills in.

He lets it play, walking over to Raymond. His husband is heavy, and it takes some effort to move his body from the stairs to one of the chairs in the living room, dropping him down there instead. Raymond’s head drops to the side immediately, his eyes still open.

Dizziness takes over, and Kevin too stumbles. He’s holding onto Raymond to avoid falling, his hand gripping the soft material that used to be grey. He draws a shaky breath.

He feels at ease, here, now. Falling doesn’t sound half-bad anymore, and he lets himself fall back onto Raymond, leaning into the cold not-embrace and the warm blood. His head’s on Raymond’s not-beating heart, and he feels at ease.

Kevin doesn’t know when he stops quivering, but it is late after Chopin has stopped playing. It’s no real silence but even Cheddar has grown tired, and he thinks right now he’s as close to an impossible solace as he can get.

The blood is uncomfortable now.

He languidly gets up, scoffing at how unnatural the movement feels. Kevin pushes through, navigating the stranger’s house, going up the stairs. He’s trailing blood, he notices, bloody steps that lead to the bathroom, where he flicks on the light.

The reflected self stops Kevin abruptly in his tracks. He turns, looking at it for a moment and when he laughs, there’s no smile that goes with it.

Nothing, nothing.

The mirror cracks.

Kevin draws his hand back, fresh cuts decorating his fist. Shards of glass are embedded into his skin, and blood is flowing steadily out.

It hurts. He pays no attention to that, his eyes more caught up with the reflection, wrong but still there.

Again, again. Until he has effaced the reflection, until there’s nothing. Until Kevin’s fist is bloody and raw, cut open and it’s all gone.

He gives another sudden laugh, nearly doubling over the sink.

There’s nobody left, nobody. Kevin lays a finger on one of the bigger pieces of glass, laying on the counter. He stills.

“N-No,” Kevin mutters. It tastes like blood and death in his mouth whenever he moves his tongue. “Fuck-”

Why did he empty the gun- no, it doesn’t matter. That past mistake doesn’t matter, and he moves to the bedside table, yanking the drawer open. Raymond’s gun stares at him, and he wonders why Raymond didn’t bring it with him when he went downstairs.

It doesn’t matter now, of course.

The gun is pressed to his temple this time. And Kevin’s laughing and choking, so loudly that he doesn’t hear the obliterating sound of the gun going off.

* * *

The twenty-first time, Kevin doesn’t so much wake up as he’s just there when he opens his eyes.

It’s not quiet: Jake’s shifting and sleeptalking beside him, the clock has a very small minute, ha, tick to it when the minutes pass, his heart is beating too loud in his chest. It will never be quiet.

Kevin gets out of the bed. The stairs groan as he descends, the floor creaks with every step he takes and he moves just a little faster. 

Jacket, wallet. Taxi.

He gives the driver his and Raymond’s home address and settles into the seat. It shouldn’t take long to get there, around an hour, and this time Kevin watches the street outside. There’s nothing interesting about it, of course, and there are even less interesting details when everything is blurred together as the car speeds up, but Kevin keeps his eyes outside all the same.

The ride draws out, even though Kevin knows it will only take over an hour or so at most. 

When it stops in front of their porch, it feels like an eternity has passed. Kevin takes out the needed money, handing it over. He’s about to get out when the driver hums, before saying, “Have a good day.”

This must be the first time he has heard their voice. It almost makes him jump, the sudden break in a routine that only he knows about. 

“You too,” Kevin replies quickly, stepping out and shutting the door closed. He thinks he sees the driver nod through the window before the car drives off, leaving him alone.

The spare key is not behind the third rock from the left, rather the fourth. Staying in the safe house and then staying in this thing must have made him forget these small things, and Kevin sighs at himself, opening the door.

Getting in quickly, getting the car key, closing the door carefully behind him before he wakes Cheddar or Raymond. It’s certainly riskier, compared to say, renting a car perhaps but he needs something familiar right now.

This car is not the one he bought years ago. It’s a newer one that Raymond brought back as a replacement, and while it’s certainly not the kind of familiarity he had in mind, it will do.

The road, going inbetween the concrete buildings of New York, doesn’t feel like home either. If anything he feels almost trapped here, and Kevin grits his teeth and presses harder on the pedal. He speeds past them, thanking something that the traffic isn’t too horrible. 

There’s that brief moment of actual nature when he drives past a golf course, past a pit stop before he re-enters the industrial landscape. Kevin takes a breath, gripping the steering wheel just a bit tighter.

Wasn’t there a time where nature calmed his heart in a way nothing else really could? 

The arches and cliffs, the fields, the sand dunes in France washing through him, sating him.

Kevin looks up at the stretched out night sky. Barely a star in sight, the moon visible through the clouds. 

The sight up at the penthouse, taking his breath away. The sky all flushed with purple and blue, spangled with stars; the sunrise, red and gold.

The sights shift outside, and suddenly there are trees around. They would be vibrantly green in the sun, he likes to imagine. A quiet solace, one that he knows he won’t ever get to again.

Killing doesn’t get him there either. There’s a small spark of maybe happiness when he presses the trigger, the same rush that Murphy (loved) loves and it gets him somewhere, but that has clearly worn out.

Even pain is nothing. He wakes up feeling nothing now, and Kevin looks down at his fist, littered with white scars that must have been from the shards of glass.

There’s no headache, he realises. No headache and no fire coursing through his hand at every movement. Since when has he stopped feeling any pain after he woke up?

Kevin frowns. That’s not how it's supposed to go, is it?

He taps his finger slowly, thoughtfully on the steering wheel. If he crashed it right now, what would happen next anyway? The impact would kill him, and the day would not stop, but when would it? At midnight?

No, Kevin has told himself to not think about this.

He has told himself to not let himself think too much about it.

His mind strays anyway, without anything else to distract it.

He would die in the car crash, most likely. Someone would call the police at some point, definitely an ambulance too. People would have to deal with his dead, or very injured body and the car, and Raymond would get called. From there he can easily imagine the procedure, the report that follows.

Would midnight be the time it restarts? Or is it at 2 AM on Sunday the 18th when he wakes up?

Why does he not feel any pain anymore? These not-days, Kevin wakes up more numb than anything.

“Fuck,” he mutters, pressing down on the pedal harder.

Logically, he knows the possible injuries he will sustain after a car crash. He’s not wearing his seatbelt, it will probably be an up-and-over pathway that’s going to happen. Trauma to the head, the face, the neck, the back, the shoulders, and the arms.

Enough trauma and it will be instantly lethal, and that’s only at the head. He hasn’t thought of the compression fractures of the neck, or what happens right after that with the windshield that will shatter into connected bits and bend as his body goes flying through.

Up ahead, Kevin sees a junction. 

The speed meter is hiking up, and he presses down more until it hits top speed. And then he swerves right, easily ramming over the blockage and there’s one or two seconds where he’s suspended in the air.

The car dives straight down, toward the trees or maybe toward the road below it. It won’t matter either way, Kevin thinks.

No, it will. 

The day goes on, doesn’t it?

It does, he muses while he still can.

* * *

The twenty-second time, Kevin doesn’t feel any pain when he wakes up.

That’s the first thing he notices, if only because he’s searching for any sensation of unpleasantness that could be coursing through him.

There’s nothing. 

He sits up, just breathing for a moment. His heart is still beating too loud in his chest, but it’s also beating too fast, and he forces himself to draw in an even breath, establishing a rhythm.

His steps are shaking as Kevin gets out of bed, walking to the bathroom. He blindly reaches for the switch, hissing when he flicks it on and the blinding light floods the room. There’s a split second of disorientation before his eyes get used to the new changes, and once they do Kevin moves to the mirror.

Scars litter his right side. They lack any actual pigment, and he knows if he wasn't looking for them he could just easily not notice them being there. The gash from his forehead that goes up to his hairline is clearer, and so is the more jagged one that’s across his cheek but not by a huge amount.

Kevin traces a particular line that goes through his eyebrow, frowning. He would not notice it being there, but a part of him knows it’s there, and tracing it is almost natural. 

When would this transfer through? Moments before he opens his eyes?

No, didn’t Jake say something about tattoos and-

“Kevin?” He jumps at Jake’s voice through the door. “Are you there pal?”

And it’s just his luck that Jake has decided to wake up early today.

“Yes,” Kevin answers. “I’m here. What do you want?”

“Can’t I just be worried for my best friend?”

He doesn’t dignify that with an answer, doesn’t want to. Best friend? He knows they’re not that. “Jake, get to the point.”

“Well...” Jake drawls from the other side. Kevin thinks he mumbles something under his breath, barely legible.

He spares one last look at his face before walking over to the door. A click and he pushes it open, the light from the bathroom pouring out into the dark corridor.

“Go on,” he prompts.

“I mean, I really was just wondering if you’re doing good. Like, not the first time you kinda got up at night and whatnot, you know?”

Kevin cocks his head at Jake’s words. “Is it not?” he asks slowly, and Jake seems to cower, making himself look smaller.

“Fuck, should not have-” he mutters. “Look,” Jake continues, louder. “I know it sucks and all and I know you don’t like people focusing on it but if old injuries are hurting you then you should not hide it, you know? Amy has done a really good job drilling that into my head.”

He steps forward, moving closer to Jake. His thoughts are running too fast now, and Kevin forces himself to slow down, to focus. “What old injuries?”

Jake makes a vague hand gesture at his entire body. “You know.”

“I don’t.”

Jake, days ago, talking about his tally marks like they’re tattoos.

Jake, right now, actually looking at the faded scars.

Jake, on a day Kevin can’t quite even remember but that he knows was on Sunday the 18th, looking at him and not seeing the gunshot wound on his face.

“The car crash! Alright?” Jake groans, looking away. “What is up with you today Kev?”

“It’s nothing,” Kevin says. “Can you give me some alone time?”

Jake hesitates. But he sighs, shrugging. “Yeah. Look- I’m sorry for, yeah, I definitely didn’t mean to interrupt and you know-”

“Jake.” Kevin places his hand on Jake’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. "It’s fine. Go get some sleep.”

Jake closes his mouth with a click, nodding stiffly. “Yeah, alright. Don’t take too long yourself, alright?”

“I won’t. Go.”

Jake still gives him a look before he walks back to the bedroom. Kevin waits until Jake is nowhere in sight before he sighs, his hand automatically going up to thread through his hair before stopping suddenly mid-way.

Not so automatically then, he corrects.

Kevin flicks the light off, walking downstairs instead. He doesn’t mean to end up in the kitchen, a pot of coffee brewing, but before he knows it he’s pouring himself a cup, adding too much milk and sugar.

His hand is also littered with scars, different from the aftermath of him punching a mirror. These are more jagged, dragging out longer and even taking longer to properly respond to his commands.

He picks the cup up and downs the contents in one gulp. It’s still hot, scalding his tongue and his throat as it goes down. At least Kevin feels considerably warmer, more awake when he lowers the empty cup.

Old injuries, Jake had said. Not the first time, he’d also said.

Tattoos, Jake had said. He was always so secretive about it whenever Jake had asked, he’d also said.

Kevin had not let himself think about it at the time, moving on quickly. Now, he has nothing to do but to think about it.

He supposes he had come to the wrong conclusion then, the first time. Because Jake could see it, and that must mean that Raymond could see it too, and neither of them had even mentioned it because… 

He takes a breath. His hands are shaking.

It had happened before, hadn’t it? Not in Kevin’s way, but in a linear way. He was in a car crash some time ago, before Sunday the 18th. He had gotten the tally marks tattooed some time ago, before Sunday the 18th.

All of the injuries, before Sunday the 18th. 

This body, before Sunday the 18th.

Of course Jake would not mention it, of course Raymond would not bat an eye at it. They have had time, Kevin doesn’t know how long but it’s time and they have had time to process everything until the scars are nothing to be stared at anyway. 

Of fucking course.

Is this another wrong conclusion, a part of him suddenly asks. “Is it?” he mutters, to himself, to the world, to whatever the fuck has put him here.

No, it makes sense, doesn’t it? H-He just has to test, right, he just has to test this.

And Kevin knows just how he can confirm it, and before he can even properly register what he has done he’s giggling as something drips down from his left eye where the coffee cup was smashed at.

Not blood, no. Or maybe there is blood, but there’s also something else. 

He can still see a particular large shard of glass sticking out, slightly blurry and barely visible but it’s there. It should be enough.

No, he has to make sure.

Kevin stumbles to the cupboard, opening it and grabbing a spoon. It’s just his luck that the first one he manages to get a hold of is perfect, small enough, and he grins.

It doesn’t hurt. He doesn’t even have to dig in that deep.

It’s messy though. Warm liquid is flowing down steadily as he brings his other hand up to wrap around his wrist, stabilising the spoon and moving it just right.

It should hurt.

Instead he can merely use the word strange to describe the eyeball hanging there, touching his cheek, the optic nerve still connected.

Now that should be enough, and Kevin stumbles into the living room, colliding with some furniture on the way out. Depth perception, the somewhat alert part of him notes.

He reaches out for the drawer, misses once, and scoots closer. The second time he gets it, opening it and reaching into it and pulling out the gun. 

Safety off.

Kevin presses the trigger.

* * *

The twenty-third time, Kevin sits up quickly. He blinks once, twice, and it is peculiar, knowing instinctively that right now he only has one eye. 

He moves his eyes- eye, and there’s a certain soreness that flares up. Kevin slows the movement and it’s a lot better, or at least it doesn’t hurt as much.

Kevin gets out of bed slowly. Walking to the bathroom without depth perception is a new challenge, and he’s glad that he doesn’t really have to rely on seeing so much. Flicking the light switch on is more difficult, and he misses three times before finally hitting it.

The change of light is blinding. A second or two is spent getting his eye used to it, before Kevin properly looks at the mirror.

His left eyelid stays shut, and it’s looking like he’s winking. Below that though, his cheek has a certain yellowish shade to it, and when he looks closer, the eyelid seems to be swelling ever so slightly.

With a careful hand, Kevin pulls at the eyelid.

He doesn’t know what he’s expecting, really, but it doesn’t look half as bad as he thought. It’s very pink, muscles and other tissues filling up the hole where his eye once was.

He stares at it for a while before losing interest. Then he looks down, seeing a small tub of gel and a container of what must be saline solution.

So, he has clearly gone through a surgery of sorts then.

No, he hasn’t. But his body - no, not his - this body has. This body that is not his had something wrong and needed to remove his left eye, and now Kevin’s here, perhaps a few days after the surgery.

How can that make sense?

It doesn’t. This doesn’t make sense, and the time loop- Is this even a time loop? Can he even call this a time loop?

The reflection stares at him, almost prompting, and Kevin diverts, no, he directs the eye to move away. 

It’s not his body, after all. He’s just here, for now, for the day and then- and then what? How does this work if it’s not a reset, or what he used to think of as a flawed reset? 

How does this work, how does he work? Why is this happening to him? Why how why- no don’t think about it but all he can do right now is think about it.

The body’s shaking. Kevin tries to get it to stop, but it doesn’t and laughter is spilling out of its lips and Kevin wants to stop that too but he can’t.

Please stop thinking about it, no, keep thinking about it.

Kevin tells the body to get out, and this time it follows. He tells it to open the door, to walk downstairs, to put on a jacket and get Jake’s wallet, and it obeys with difficulty. He- It bumps into the table, it can’t quite stop at the right distance from the door but he manages to get it outside and he tells it to take a deep breath, in and out.

In and out.

Its chest moves, following that up and down, in and out rhythm.

Calm down, Kevin tells himself this time. Think.

He’s not in his body. He got here somehow, but the bottomline is that this is not his body. And the last loop wasn’t his body either, nor the one before that and so on and so forth.

So he wakes up, on Sunday the 18th, in a different body.

A different body that comes from...somewhere. No, that’s not right, bodies don’t just come into existence in the blink of an eye. There’s a time before Sunday the 18th, before he got here, when the body is laying in the hospital, getting the eye surgery. And then even before that, there’s been a life before this.

And before the body, there’s its parents. And more and more and-

This doesn’t make sense. He tells it to breathe again, to not panic. No, what Kevin needs right now is to think this through.

Calm down. Continue.

He has to assume that it has an identical past, at least up to the point of the eye surgery… Right? At the very least, identical enough that he and Jake are still in the safe house on Sunday the 18th.

And so on and so forth, for previous bodies and for what Kevin has to assume, future bodies. That he’s jumping to and fro. Somehow.

No, one question at a time. Focus.

If there are bodies with such specific injuries for him to jump to, and Kevin has to assume that there are infinite of those, ergo infinite...worlds. Universes. With everything lining up close enough but different-

Multiverse. Everett. 

Of course. He wants it to tear its hair out. Of fucking course, how is he that forgetful? Of course of course- He needs- There’s no library open right now, not that he can think of anyway and-

That will work.

He tells it to start walking, finding a taxi to wave down. It’s a different driver, not that he cares about that right now, and Kevin tells it to give the address. His- no, its- no, their leg is bouncing throughout the one hour ride, and when they finally get there Kevin almost lets out a sigh of relief.

They pay the money quickly, before getting out. They rush to the white Rolls-Royce, only now remembering they don’t actually have a gun to use, but it won’t matter. 

Kevin hopes it won’t matter as they open the door, getting in and turning over to shakily smile at Murphy.

“Hello,” they say quickly, reaching for the seatbelt. “We’re- I’m so very sorry for this.”

“Kevin?!” Murphy all but gasps, staring at them with wide eyes. But he doesn’t pull out a gun or call his men, and Kevin will take that.

“Hey, you can interrogate me later,” they continue. “But before anything, quick question. How do you feel about me?”

“What?!”

“I mean it, Murphy. How do you feel about me. Just, answer, please.”

Murphy blinks. He opens his mouth, pauses, closes it with a click and actually thinks it through. Kevin’s shoulders relax.

In a way, he knows the answer already.

“I should hate you,” Murphy slowly admits. “Right now it would make sense if I hated you, but... Why am I scared of you? Have we met before?”

“In a way, yes,” Kevin says. “You can try to remember and what you come up with won’t make sense, but look, I will explain everything later, alright?”

“What-”

They sigh. Beside them Murphy’s looking more and more confused, and the irritation turns into a soft sympathy. 

“Murphy-” No, that doesn’t feel right. “Seamus,” Kevin corrects. “Do you trust me?”

“What kind of question is that?” Seamus mutters. “Of course I don-...”

They try not to look smug or pleased at that. Judging by Seamus’ glare, it doesn’t quite work. 

“Shut up” he mutters. “When is later?”

“After you drive us to your penthouse across from Central Park,” Kevin replies. “Yes, I know about that. I know way too much about you too, but like I said, I will explain.”

“...Right,” Seamus says. 

The car starts moving, and they smile, relaxing. “Thank you.”

Seamus inches his head in response. His fingers are doing the tapping on the wheel thing again, Kevin notes.

“At this point I can’t tell if you’re more stressed out because of your work or because of me.”

“Work,” Seamus sighs. “You, for some reason, don't make me feel stressed so much as…” he shrugs, trailing off.

It isn’t like Kevin needs Seamus to complete the sentence to understand what he means. They look at Seamus for another moment, wondering if they should ask him a question before remembering they have finished that already. 

Small talk exists of course, but it doesn’t feel right at this moment. And asking a question again, that’s a definite no.

The car stops, saving Kevin from trying to remember the rest of the 36 questions just to see if there’s anything worth mentioning.

“We’re here,” Seamus says easily. “Come on.”

They get out and follow Seamus inside. And sometimes they say what Seamus would have said to the receptionist seconds before he actually does and enjoy the look of badly masked surprise.

“That is creepy,” Seamus says when the receptionist has their back turned.

Kevin shrugs.

They get the key, and then it’s to the elevator they go. It’s the usual procedure that Kevin has gotten used to by now.

“Should I even bother to give you a tour?” Seamus asks when the door slides open and they step out.

“It won’t be necessary,” Kevin replies.

Seamus mutters something under his breath before pushing the door open, heading straight to the study. He turns the computer on the main desk on, typing something in before gesturing for Kevin to take a seat.

“It is later now, isn’t it?”

Kevin shrugs, sitting down where Seamus sat not-days ago. They open a browser, typing in MWI Everett and clicking enter. “Have you tried to remember?”

The page has finished loading, displaying a list of results when Seamus answers, “It doesn’t make sense.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Kevin agrees, clicking on the Wikipedia link.

“It couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not dead. And you’re not dead, and,” Seamus struggles to continue. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Literally nothing up until now makes sense,” Kevin chuckles softly. “Tell me,” they say, momentarily looking away from the words to gaze up at Seamus. 

“You had me pinned to a wall, a gun pointing at my head.”

His voice is shaking.

“I did,” Kevin says. “Did I shoot you?”

Seamus nods.

“And what about the time when I was dead?”

“It was here,” he says, and that gets Kevin to really pause. For a moment the loaded Wikipedia page on the Many-worlds interpretation doesn’t matter as much as Seamus’ words right now.

Seamus has done this before. Kevin didn’t know how then, he certainly doesn’t know how right now. “Yes?” he prompts, entirely too calm compared to the surge of interest in him.

“We were standing out there, on the terrace.”

“We were.”

“You pulled me out there, didn’t you?” Seamus continues, looking at them. “You told me about-”

He hesitates, and Kevin turns his chair so that he's facing Seamus properly. “What did I tell you about?”

“About how you were here before.”

“How did I die?”

“I shot you. You had me hold a gun to your head, and you said I could decide. And I-” Seamus’ voice breaks then, and his knees must have buckled at that point too because he’s leaning onto Kevin, burying his head in the crook of his neck. “Fuck. I shot you. Why did I shoot you?”

It’s an awkward situation, and it must be an awkward pose for Seamus to hold, leaning down like this. Though right now that’s the last thing his thoughts can linger on.

“Fascinating,” Kevin whispers.

Seamus made a different choice.

It’s a different branch.

And the cat is both alive and dead. And they are both dead and alive.

And then he moves on. And then the body-

They let Seamus cry, using a free hand to draw circles on his back but not offering any more words. Focus on this for now, don’t think about it.

But the body.

It is not coming with him, as far as Kevin knows.

“And what happened next?” they- he, he asks, glad that its voice doesn’t shake.

“What do you mean what happened next?” Seamus murmurs, the words muffled. “You died, obviously.”

“I know. What happened after you shot me?”

Seamus straightens up, still crying. And Kevin sighs, bringing its hands up and wiping the tears away. He flinches at the initial contact before letting out a shaky breath, leaning into it.

“I called some people to clean up the blood and your body. Clean up and dispose of, I should say.”

“And then?”

“I- If you’re asking for, like, the disposal process,” Seamus shrugs. “I try not to- well, I have to check in every now and then but the draining is rather straightforwa-”

“No, not that,” Kevin cuts in quickly. “What did you do next?”

At his question, Seamus freezes up. Kevin grits its teeth, but he knows better than to rush this, no matter how much he wants to. Its right hand moves down, trailing the shape of Seamus’ face before ending at his neck.

Two fingers press gently there, and Kevin gets a pulse that’s not going as fast as he was expecting, but still faster than usual.

Fast or not, even he can feel that this body is relaxing as the seconds pass.

“Seamus,” Kevin calls.

His eyes focus at the mention of his name, looking down at Kevin. “Oh,” Seamus mutters, tilting his head slightly. “You’re- I am, was-”

“Calm down. You don’t have to say anything just yet.”

“Oh. T-That’s good.”

It’s not. Kevin wants, no, craves a statement just so he can confirm the ever growing thoughts in his head.

The pulse under his fingers beats on steadily.

Be patient.

“I- I went home after that, I think,” Seamus says. “No, I know so. And I went straight to the bedroom and I couldn’t sleep but at some point I did anyway.”

“Did you wake up?” Kevin asks.

The penthouse is quiet. He can barely distinguish between Seamus’ heartbeat and his- no, this body’s own racing one. Maybe they’re beating to the same beat.

“Yes,” Seamus answers, and continues on like he knows what Kevin’s actually asking for. “On Monday, and then Tuesday and Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday… Sunday again. And now I’m here.”

Kevin likes to think that it’s the excitement that’s making its hands, it as a whole, shake and quiver and not the dread pooling in its gut. Not the sudden dawning realisation. Not the fucking look in Seamus’ eyes right now, directed at him.

Don’t be right. No, don’t be wrong.

“I’m sorry,” Kevin wants to say, but a choked sob interrupts the words. 

Please be right. No, please be wrong.

It yanks its hand back like it has been gripping hot metal. It walks away from Seamus slowly then turns and breaks into a sprint. It runs, and it stops in front of the walk-in closet and it is pushing the door open and walking in and grabbing the nearest handgun. It is crying.

“Kevin!”

He is reloading the gun, positioning it to his head. He is crying, enough that when Seamus rushes into view he looks blurry.

Seamus pauses at the door, his hands half-way up. “Kevin, put the gun down.”

“Why should I?” Kevin smiles. Or maybe he grimaces. It’s so hard to tell. “Pray tell, why should I?”

“You,” Seamus gulps. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Oh don’t I?”

“N-No. You don’t. Just, put the gun down Kevin, please.”

It would be so easy to press the trigger and he wouldn’t have to be here anymore and so he wouldn’t have to deal with this. It would be so easy to confess that he can’t deal with this and that everything is too much and that he doesn’t, can’t understand this endless cycle of dying and moving on and dying again and even when he-

Even when he doesn’t (didn’t) die he still moves on. Or maybe he does (did), maybe his heart does (did) stop and… And he feels lightheaded.

“Oh god-” Kevin breathes, stumbling, taking a step back and another until his back collides with the wall. “Oh no- No. No no no, that can’t be how it works.”

He refuses to accept this. He is accepting this.

No stop shut up stop thinking forget this-

Something hits the floor with a clack. Something warm is engulfing him, not warm enough to fill in the cold void of indifference even when he’s screaming for something, anything that the universe is willing to give.

The walls are closing in.

“I will die here,” Kevin whispers. Seamus hugs him tighter, almost telling him to shut up. “No, you don’t understand- I will die here. There’s no other way, it has to be this.”

“You won’t,” Seamus lies.

“That’s how it ends, Seamus. How it has been ending, how it will be ending-”

“You won’t-”

“Don’t…” he sighs, letting himself melt into the embrace. He feels so tired. “Please don’t say that.”

Seamus, by some miracle, actually follows his plea. He’s also tired, Kevin realises, half leaning onto him and half trying to not put too much weight forward.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...reminded you of this,” Kevin continues. “It’s too late to- at least, too late for you but next time…”

Next time. What will he do, next time?

“I won’t try to reveal… you don’t deserve to deal with this.”

No one does, really. Jake, Raymond…

Past not-loops flash in his head, and Kevin grits his teeth.

He did that. How long has it been since he has killed them all, how long has it been since he has saved them? The world keeps going even when he isn’t there to see it, to deal with it but other people are there, stuck to deal with the mess he has left in his wake.

Would they still be crying? Kevin can imagine that. He has seen the 99th precinct in various states of grief (disappointment, guilt, fear) before. 

Are they blaming him?

Kevin can also imagine that, too vividly.

“Tell me,” Seamus mutters. “Tell me next time.”

He tries to not close his eye, tries to not pass out. It’s a cruel thing to have someone whom moments ago you were holding suddenly die, just like that. It’s a cruel thing in the moment, forcing Seamus to live through this again.

“Of course,” Kevin lies. “Can I ask you a favour?”

Seamus doesn’t miss a beat, “Anything.”

“When I die, don’t... Don’t go too hard on Raymond. I know you have the reputation for being brutal and all, but,” he shrugs. “Whatever you were going to say, about draining and all that. Don’t?”

“Of course.”

“And after that is done and dealt with, take a break.”

“I,” Seamus trails off. “Alright.”

Kevin smiles. “Thank you,” he says. And whatever reply Seamus has is gone to the exhaustion that’s dragging him into, well, Kevin wishes he could say sleep.

* * *

The not-twenty-fourth time, Kevin wakes up never wanting to fall asleep again.

Or at least, not falling asleep on Sunday the 18th. Not today, and he can do 24 hours easily. Kevin has pulled all nighters before, regularly during school and less so these days, but he can do it.

Get out of bed quietly, go downstairs.

Jacket, wallet. Taxi. Don’t fall asleep on the ride, no matter how calming the silence coupled with the background noises is.

He pays the fee quickly, getting out and walking up the steps of his (no, not his, not really) house. The spare key not being behind the right rock only hammers home, ha, the fact that this is not really his house.

It’s whatever, really. He will get over this, sooner or later.

Kevin unlocks the door, getting in and grabbing the car key as fast as he can. Driving when you’re exhausted is by no means safe, but he’s not exhausted yet and at least driving gives the act of staying awake more weight. 

Also, he needs coffee if he’s going to pull this off. 

Kevin grimaces at the mere thought of downing an unhealthy amount of caffeine, but if it’s what he needs to really make sure he won’t fall asleep then he will take it.

What has Jake said about energy drinks again?

Kevin stops at the first 24/7 retail he sees. He walks through the aisles, scanning the selection and trying to make sense of and get the information he needs from Jake’s ramble. What has he said about that one time he had stayed awake for four days?

He buys a pack of Bangs energy drink, because he’s rather sure that this is what Jake had drunk. He takes the first can out the moment he pays, holding it up and reading the writing on the back under the blue electrical light.

The ingredient list matches the story, and there’s even a small warning. How considerate.

Too much caffeine may cause nervousness, irritability, sleeplessness and occasionally rapid heartbeat, Kevin reads. Great, he only needs one of the listed effects, but it isn’t like the rest will be that important.

Not recommended for use by individuals under 18 years of age. One serving provides 300 mg of caffeine, which is more than two cups of coffee.

He cracks open the can the moment he gets back in his car, and gulps it down. The taste is horrible, of course, all the wrong kinds of artificial sweetness, but he pushes through until the can is probably half empty.

Probably. It’s hard to tell and he would have loved to finish it all but not-his body is physically protesting the idea.

His hand is shaking. The sensation of his own heart beating is suddenly more noticeable, pounding in his chest and he can even feel it in his neck and throat and-

Good.

It’s certainly what he needs. Actually no, but it’s what this body needs to stay awake so Kevin will take it.

The shaking dissipates somewhat when he grips the wheel. 

The sky changes from its dark blue and purple to a brilliantly bright red and gold as he drives. The only moment his hands aren’t on the wheel is when he ditches Jake’s wallet halfway through a golf course and when he finishes the first can when he feels the high awareness dulling off, and then the second one when not-his body complains and the third one when his throat feels dry.

Stay awake stay awake stay awake-

He’s halfway past his fourth when Kevin drives past the spot where he crashed the car, and for a moment it seems like everything is moving in slow motion. And for a moment it feels like he’s watching the same car swerve, ramming off the blockage and going flying off the road downward.

Kevin jumps when he hears a loud crash, and then the blaring sound of the car alarm.

His right hand reaches out for the fourth can again. He elects to ignore the headaches, taking another sip of the drink and wondering how much is too much.

This feels like too much.

He takes another longer sip, swallowing the sweet liquid down and grimacing. He’s aware he’s in Connecticut at this point, even passing the original destination he had in mind maybe an hour ago. 

Kevin pulls over and stops the car. He grabs the can, squeezes his eyes shut and knocks his head back. Something in him is really protesting as the energy drink flows down but this time Kevin doesn’t stop until there’s nothing left.

The empty can is gingerly tossed to the side as he takes a well needed breath. The aftertaste of what should have been peach and mango but instead feels like pure sugar lingers, coating his tongue in an unpleasant sensation.

He shifts in the seat, aware of how the fabric he’s wearing is slightly scratchy, how it is slightly too hot in here.

The sun is shining into his eyes. 

He can feel every beat of his heart clearer than before, how it moves and even better, how every single electrical impulse travels down, following a pathway. Blood is moving through his veins.

He’s breathing, perhaps too fast, perhaps not enough.

He’s alive.

The sun is too bright. Kevin blinks.

* * *

The twenty-fourth time, Kevin wakes up knowing he has just died.

There’s a mix of the usual numbness that plagues him, this time accompanied by a certain detachment to everything. There’s no ache, no immediate pain to notify him of any injury this body might have, and Kevin draws a breath.

He blinks slowly, getting a feel for the body.

So at some point he will just die then. A painless, over in a blink of an eye death.

Which leaves his dead body, and… If that’s how the universe, or whatever is out there wants to play then-

Alright. He can do that.

Kevin gets up, walks downstairs, finds the gun. Even when holding it gives him a certain calmness that is more than welcomed right now, he doesn’t think he will really use it. Doesn’t think he can, not yet.

Still, he might need it so there’s no way to avoid the cold feeling of the hand grip. His finger lazes along the side even when he’s tempted to move it to the trigger.

No, focus. He has work to do again, a sense of purpose (no, not purpose. Value, perhaps, would be a better word,) that he’s struggling to get used to.

Jacket, cash, leaving the wallet and by extension, tracker. He doesn’t need to be found.

He gets out, waving down a taxi, giving the driver the address where Seamus’ car would be parked.

They share no words during the ride, of course, it’s that quiet driver again and yet Kevin doesn’t know if he likes the silence this time around. His thoughts are running a hundred miles an hour, and he sighs, leaning against the window.

Again and again and again, unending torment and meaningless work in a repetitive cycle with no end in sight.

No, not so meaningless... but it is, isn’t it? He’s forcing a meaning by doing this, thinking that his existence is now justified because of this work even though that’s… 

He’s asking questions again, his thoughts turning to why, why this why me what does this even mean does it mean anything at all- even when he knows no one will give him an answer, that nothing ultimately matters anyway.

Ah. 

That explains why he’s cold then, even when the car is warm and the jacket is warm, that biting indifference covering him like a blanket.

He sighs, again. Even breathing is repetitive in its own right, in and out and in and out.

This is...absurd, even when that isn’t quite the right word. He will do it anyway, of course, saving Raymond and Jake and hopefully not killing Seamus and persuading him into turning himself in freely, again.

The sight outside slows down then pauses entirely, and Kevin pulls out the needed money, paying the fee without any fuss. He opens the door, getting out and taking in the white Rolls-Royce.

And then there’s the more practical questions, like how would he convince Seamus to end this without any bloodshed even though that would be so much easier, and it would save so many others…

But also it’s Seamus and well, Kevin simply doesn’t want to. 

He hates how easy it is, or even worse, how it’s almost practiced movement to open the door, reach in and take a hold of the collar of Seamus’ shirt. Kevin pulls him out, turns and has him pressed flush against the wall instead. The gun is positioned to Seamus’ forehead, and he stares at him, taking in the scared and surprised expression.

“Evening, Seamus.”

“K-Kevin?!” he gasps, squirming against the grip. Kevin presses the gun forward until it touches skin and then harder and Seamus stops resisting so much.

“That’s me,” Kevin says, moving his hand away from the collar and back to the gun, holding it more properly. “I don’t want to make this harder for both of us, so will you at least behave?”

He can’t tell if Seamus is eyeing the gun or him, but he eventually nods.

Kevin steps back. “Thank you.”

“What can I help you with, Kevin?”

“Straight to the point, fair enough. You have Ketamine in your car, no?” Seamus nods again. “Get it. And do it slowly.”

The implied or else hangs in the air, even though Kevin doubts he would actually take a shot. His finger isn’t even in the trigger guard, for god’s sake.

Seamus follows his order easily enough, retrieving a small bottle of the Ketamine. It’s already half-empty when he holds it up for Kevin to see and the content goes down more when he tells Seamus to fill the syringe up with the aneasthetic.

“Drug yourself,” Kevin says. “With all of it.”

“Wh-” He cocks the gun. Seamus sighs, gritting his teeth and jamming the syringe through his jeans at his thigh, slowly injecting the content until the syringe is empty. “Happy?”

“Very. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

Seamus glares at him. If looks could kill, Kevin’s sure he’d be starting a new Sunday the 18th by now. Not that it would matter, starting again.

“Get yourself seated while you still can.”

Around two minutes later, Seamus is passed out in the backseat while he’s driving both of them to the penthouse. Strangely, or perhaps not so, Kevin somewhat misses the conversation even when the silence is peaceful in its own way. Talking to Seamus is always fun.

He positions the rear-view mirror, taking a look at the unconscious Seamus. Surely no one would care that he has an unconscious body with him as he walks in and collects the key and then drags him up, considering the fact that they let Seamus keep a myriad of guns in a walk-in closet.

Rich people are just like that anyway, Kevin thinks, parking the Rolls-Royce. He reaches over, getting the wallet and pocketing it before taking a more proper look at Seamus. No negative reaction to the drug as of yet, that’s good.

Oh yeah, he will need to get him up there somehow too.

Well, one problem at a time. 

Kevin opens the door, stepping out and walking to the reception. He answers the needed questions, handing over the needed card and receiving back said card and the needed key for the penthouse without too much trouble. 

The key jingles as he walks back to the car, opening the door on Seamus’ side and standing there, humming.

He supposes he can just carry him up. It won’t take that long, and Seamus doesn’t look that heavy. 

Having people doing this for you must be so convenient and for once Kevin wishes Brian was here just so he could take care of this.

Well, whatever. It’s his fault that he insisted Seamus drug himself there instead of when they’re back up at the penthouse. He will do it better, smarter next time.

“Sir?”

Kevin blinks, looking back to see a staff member looking at him. “Hello.”

“Do you need help with that?”

There’s no mistake that the man is clearly referring to Seamus. Rich people, Kevin thinks again, nodding. “That would be appreciated, yes.”

“It’s no trouble, sir.”

Kevin watches as the man waves down another staff member, and together the two of them handle Seamus easily. Too easily, if he’s being honest.

“Put him down in one of the bedrooms, please” Kevin says. “After that, some privacy would be nice. And if anyone asks, tell them I’m not here.”

“Of course.”

He waits until he’s sure that the staff have exited the penthouse before walking to where the bottles of liquors are lined up. Kevin blindly grabs a random bottle, unscrewing it and drinking it straight up.

Gin, his mind supplies. More neutral taste than expected, but it’s good. 

A look at the bottle confirms it, and Kevin brings it with him to the bedroom where they’ve put Seamus. His eyes are still open, he realises, rapidly moving. He looks awake.

Kevin takes another drink, watching Seamus. It isn’t like there’s a very high chance of him waking up suddenly considering the dosage, and if at this point Seamus hasn’t died from the Ketamine then there’s no immediate danger either but he still wants to stand here rather than pass out somewhere else.

Another gulp, the alcohol flowing through him. It has a very nice aftertaste and mouth-feel.

Seamus gives a minute twitch.

Kevin puts the bottle down by the nightstand, then bends down to take a better look. His eyes are nice too, more grey than he was expecting. Or perhaps that’s all the colour he can really make out in the dark bedroom. 

And then Seamus screams, loudly.

It’s lucky that he isn’t holding the bottle right now, or it would have ended up broken on the floor as Kevin jumps. Why is he- ah.

He’s hesitant to leave Seamus’ side right now, especially considering all that is happening but he also didn’t bring the Ketamine up with him. Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck. “Don’t do anything,” Kevin mutters to Seamus as if he could actually hear or follow his words or do anything else aside from having a goddamn hallucination.

It’s a mad scramble of cursing the elevator for not being faster and sprinting over to the car. At least he knows where the bottle and syringe is this time, saving him the trouble of going through everything in here again.

Fuck.

He loads the syringe up and gives Seamus more Ketamine. His hands shake throughout the injection, and they are still shaking even when Seamus has quieted down, going back to the blank stare.

Fuck, lesson learned. Again.

Kevin stares at the bottle of gin, and then the bottle of Ketamine.

A low dose should be fine, right? 

Last time he got knocked out by this he didn't really die, though it’s hard to say if it’s more because of the method or just the randomness of this. Sometimes it jumps when he goes to sleep, sometimes it doesn’t.

The rest of the Ketamine slowly gets given to Seamus, just to really make sure he will stay unconscious for a while and that Kevin won’t be tempted with giving himself some. 

The alcohol is there to distract him, not the anesthesia.

He grabs the bottle, closing the door behind him. Honestly, getting blackout drunk doesn’t sound half bad either. At least he can enjoy this before getting whisked up and dumped into another body.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Wake up.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Jacket, money, gun, taxi.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Subdue Seamus. Drive to the penthouse.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Card. Ask the staff to carry the body up.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Sometimes Seamus panics, sometimes he doesn’t. 

But when he does, his screams are too loud and sometimes Kevin entertains himself with guessing what Seamus might be hallucinating about. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


At first he drinks. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Wake up.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Jacket, money, gun, taxi.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Sometimes Seamus fights back. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Sometimes he wins, and Kevin opens his eyes to the white ceiling with a stain.

  
  
  
  


Wake up.

  
  
  
  


Jacket, money, gun, taxi, again. 

  
  
  
  


Subdue Seamus. Drive to the penthouse.

  
  
  
  


Card. Ask the staff to carry the body up.

  
  
  
  


And then he gives himself a low dose of Ketamine, just to numb everything away. 

  
  
  


Wake up.

  
  


Jacket, money, gun, taxi, again. 

  
  


Subdue Seamus. Drive to the penthouse.

  
  


Card. Ask the staff to carry the body up.

  
  


And sometimes he tries to get it just right so he can fall down into that hallucination state too. He doesn’t do it again after the first time.

Wake up. 

Jacket, money, gun, taxi, again. 

Subdue Seamus. 

Drive to the penthouse. 

Card. Ask the staff to carry the body up.

These days Kevin tries not to look at the Ketamine or the alcohol.

Wake up. 

Jacket, money, gun, taxi, again. 

Subdue Seamus. 

Drive to the penthouse. 

Card. Ask the staff to carry the body up.

He’s standing outside on the terrace again, leaning against the glass barrier that is the only thing that is stopping him from falling 200m down and splattering against the pavement. The wind blows past him, cold and uncaring.

The moon is bright tonight, making the white mist that he breathes out even more obvious than usual. 

It’s silent.

Wake up. Jacket, money, gun, taxi, again. Subdue Seamus. Drive to the penthouse. Card. Ask the staff to carry the body up.

Everything is done, for now. Seamus won’t be a problem for the day, Raymond and Jake will be fine for the day. Tomorrow, Seamus can wake up to his dead body, and Raymond won't be fine, of course, but it will pass.

He knows it will pass. It won’t be important anyway, what meaning is there to grief and guilt? It will pass, that world will go on without him. And many more will, have to-

Meaningless, that word is plaguing his awake existence these days.

Kevin knows his life doesn’t matter. It’s a constant awareness now, that nothing he does -waking up and subduing Seamus and so on and so forth- none of that matters. His life is a tale told by a fool, signifying nothing.

Nihilistic, he accuses himself.

Wakeup.Jacket,money,gun,taxi,again.SubdueSeamus.Drivetothepenthouse.Card.Askthestafftocarrythebodyup.

And yet, here he is, anyway. And he’s going to do all of that, and maybe the next time he won’t stick around the penthouse, waiting until he drops dead again.

Next time, and next time, and next time.

Kevin doesn’t think he’s really looking forward to the day he, by mere chance, gets out. Or at least he has stopped hoping that the day will come, and he has stopped looking forward to tomorrow.

  
  
  
  
  


This time, Kevin follows the routine as he always does.

“Evening, Seamus.”

It might have been frustrating the first time, Seamus resisting. Still, he has more experience in this specific situation, and it’s easy, putting him down from a choke hold and then injecting the Ketamine himself. Kevin nods, satisfied, then leisurely gets in the car. 

His grip’s relaxed as he presses the pedal and drives away. 

Again. 

The skyscraper looks the same as any other time, nothing out of the ordinary. Still, it stands out from the distance as Kevin drives closer, parking the car and getting out.

Sometimes he thinks this is very messed up, the ease at which this is being executed. But then again, all actions amount to the same thing so it isn’t like this outweighs anything else.

Kevin unlocks the door to the penthouse methodically, and doesn’t bother closing it when the staff retreats.

Again.

He stands outside on the terrace, leaning against the glass. He doesn’t know how many days it has been, and sometimes Kevin misses knowing the time, or the meaning. It’s a need, honestly, one that he doesn’t try to stop himself from avoiding.

It’s worse when he does, really.

Again.

He’s fine, despite everything. Life is, well, it is what it is but he’s going to cling to it anyway. It’s a new feeling, one he certainly hasn’t really felt before even though the life before this was as repetitive as this one.

Huh, the life before this.

He misses that too, he supposes.

Waking up, seeing Raymond, kissing him like everything is fine and the world has some meaning. Going on with his day, and then in the evening, retiring to their own bed. And even if both of them have a strict sleeping position, Kevin would embrace Raymond under the cover, perhaps even more. A slight break in the repetitiveness, sure, but in the end it is still in that cycle.

Again.

And now, the repetitiveness is obvious, and so is the absurdity of life and everything else. Really, the only thing that has changed from then to now is his view of it all. 

Kevin blinks, stops looking back over his life for a moment and stares at the stars. The night, this branching and jumping and looping, whatever he wants to call it, is still going. 

Again.

**Author's Note:**

> This is real... Probably.
> 
> Haha jk.... unless?
> 
> Nah nah, this is the actual end of this too long fic about a side character in a copaganda. Writing this has been a lot of fun, and I can only hope that reading this has been a lot of fun...well, perhaps not a lot of fun but it has been enjoyable for you all. 
> 
> Many things I've said from the first AN hold true, including but not limited to: the absolute gratitude for you, the amazing reader, who has gotten to the end and for my beta, who has to put up with way too much; my tumblr [@onemilisec](https://onemilisec.tumblr.com/) where inbox/dm is open if you ever feel the need to yell at me and (while this is more of a half truth) the Writer's commentary which is the next in the series. It has a lot of explanation and research dump with a slight mix of my rambling, so if knowing exactly how does a wound affect the body or what the fuck is going on with quantum mechanic in this fic is your cup of tea then I'd suggest you go there and give it a read.
> 
> But before you a) continue on with the series or b) click off in general, I do wanna add a few quick words about the ending of this. 
> 
> It is greatly influenced by Camus' essay The Myth of Sisyphus and David Lewis' lecture How Many Lives Has Schrödinger's Cat? Now, I won't go into it too much here, the writer's commentary exists for a reason, but I do want to leave you with two phrases:
> 
> "One must imagine Kevin happy" and "But soon, life's not at all worth living. That, and not the risk of sudden death, is the real reason to pity Kevin."
> 
> I, personally, am imagining Kevin happy, hence the (I will admit, a bit misleading) tag Angst with a happy ending. And that's all from me in this fic, so I will leave you to choose which statement to hold true and bid you goodbye <3


End file.
